


Like Real People

by charvelle



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abusive John Winchester, Alternate Universe - Human, Angst, Bottom Dean, Canonical Character Death, Castiel Has A Daughter, Child Abuse, Dean gets a puppy, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Explicit Sexual Content, Food Issues, Happy Ending, Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, Kid Fic, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Miscarriage, Original Character(s), Panic Attacks, Past Abuse, Past Castiel/other - Freeform, Past Dean/others - Freeform, Past Relationship(s), Physical Abuse, Prostitution, Slow Build, Switching, Teacher Castiel, Teacher Dean Winchester, Top Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-30
Updated: 2015-01-28
Packaged: 2018-02-22 23:07:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 31
Words: 135,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2525093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charvelle/pseuds/charvelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester is a respected literature teacher at Lawrence's best private school, yet he feels like he's still a complete and utter travesty of a human being. Months after his father's death, he's yet to come to terms with the negative impact John Winchester had on his life. Though he's determined never to admit it, the only thing Dean's ever wanted was an Apple Pie Life: it's something that's been dangled in front of his face, though he's certain he could never deserve it. </p><p>While Dean struggles to come to terms with the isolated, lonely life he's made for himself, a disruption comes in the form of Castiel Novak, Lawrence Private's newest faculty member. Those blue eyes and raspy voice are things Dean can't ignore for long, and when he's forced to stop fighting his affections, Dean finds his lonely life turned upside down. </p><p>Is it possible he could deserve an Apple Pie Life after all?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The New Kid

**Author's Note:**

> I've been mentally caught up in Domestic Destiel for what feels like years, so this is basically me indulging in those fantasies. I have never been to Lawrence in my life, so most things in this fic - the school, etc - is completely fictitious. 
> 
> I just want to see Dean and Cas being disgustingly, helplessly domestic and in love. Of course, it's going to take some pushing to get both of them to that point.
> 
> I'm currently at film school, but I'm trying to keep on top of my fic writing as much as possible. I have every intention of finishing this fic (un-finished works drive me up the wall) but I'm not sure how long that will take. I'll try to update at least every single week, more if I can manage. 
> 
> The title is after Hozier's song "Like Real People Do". 
> 
> *Note: The Michael in this fic is NOT the archangel Michael; it's the young boy Michael from 1.18, "Something Wicked"

   
 

“You look like hell, Winchester.” Charlie set her laptop down on the table with a sharp thud. 

“Good morning to you too, Charlie.” Dean kept his eyes down on the paper in front of him. It was the tenth essay about symbolism in _To Kill A Mockingbird_ he’d graded that morning, and he was starting to feel like the words were beginning to run together. A dark stain of a coffee ring sat near the bottom of the page.

Reluctantly, Dean’s eyes slid over to Charlie’s laptop, and he bit back a groan. “Tell me you’re not going to unleash your technology hell on me this early in the morning.”

“It’s not _technology hell._ ” Charlie argued crossly, sitting down beside him and lifting the screen. “It’s called joining the twenty-first century. Tran wants each teacher to have their own page on the school’s website, and so far I have every teacher, except for you.”

“That’s because I see my students every day.” Dean replied, scrawling a mark at the top of the essay and pushing it away from him on the table. “Why the hell do I need a freaking website?”

“It’s not a web _site,_ it’s a web _page._ ” Charlie corrected, her eyes flicking across the screen as her fingers tapped at the keys. “So you can post things like notes and the class syllabus.”

“Dude, I don’t even _remember_ my class syllabus.” Dean picked his mug up and took a swig of coffee, before remembering he’d let it go cold. Wrinkling his nose, he put the mug back down and pushed it away. “If my kids want the notes, they should come to class. Why give the little terrors extra incentive to ditch?”

“Jeez, you’re a hard-ass.” Charlie narrowed his eyes at him. “Aren’t the young, doe-eyed, tattooed teachers supposed to be the cool ones? 

 _“Doe-eyed?”_  Dean looked at her indignantly.

“First I should fill out your bio,” Charlie went on, ignoring him, “And then I’ll need a picture – either you give one to me, or I take one myself.”

“A picture? Really?” Dean passed a hand over his face in exasperation. 

“Complain all you want, but I’m acting on captain’s order’s.” Charlie looked over at Dean expectantly, the screen of her laptop casting her face in unnatural light. “Name?”

Dean glared at her. 

“Okay, I’ll fill in the blanks.” She started typing. “Dean Winchester… American Literature. Room 108, Humanities wing… office hours 3-4… I can’t put anything too personal, I think there’s a law against that…”

“Thank God.” Dean muttered. Suddenly, there was the imitated sound of a camera flashing, and Dean looked up sharply. Charlie was frowning at the screen of her cell phone, her tongue stuck between her teeth.

“That didn’t turn out so good.” She said. “Maybe we should go somewhere with better light?”

“Put the phone away,” Dean snapped, “Or you’re going to be utilizing that Apple warranty.”

“Fine, _fine._ ” Charlie tossed her phone into her bag, then threw her hands up in the air in surrender. She eyed Dean with a sour expression. “Aren’t you Mr. Sunshine today.”  

Guilt prickled through Dean’ system. She was right – he and Charlie usually operated on a system of friendly banter, but he was never like this.

“I’m just tired.” He said, his chair scraping as he stood up from the table. He walked to the sink and poured his cold coffee down the drain, before pouring a fresh cup. “I’ve been here grading these stupid essays since five. I just need some rest, that’s all. Besides, maybe I’m not extra grumpy – maybe you’re just extra freakishly chipper.”

“I can’t help it.” Charlie beamed, “I always get excited when we get new kids. That’s why I was on the welcoming committee in high school.”

Dean leaned against the counter of the lounge’s small kitchenette. “Charlie, if you start to get any more friendly and over-excited with your students, you’re going to freak them out.”

“I’m not talking about a new student.” Charlie just looked at him. “God, don’t you read _any_ of the e-newsletters Tran sends around?”

“Honestly? No.” Dean shook his head.

“Well if you had, you’d know that the new Writing & Composition teacher starts today.” Excitement was written all over Charlie’s face.

“Oh.” Dean said, but even he heard how lackluster the reply was. He couldn’t help it. Sure, the substitute who’d been filling in since the last teacher went AWOL was weird and smelled like mothballs, so Dean would be glad to be rid of him, but he couldn’t bring himself to feel anything more than that. Really, this hardly affected him. He already had Charlie and Benny as friends; he didn’t want any more.

Charlie’s face fell a little as she looked at Dean. “God, you’re so lame. Why can’t you be excited about something for once?”

“Why should I be excited about this?” Dean asked.

“Come on, Dean, you know what I mean – you haven’t come out with me and Benny in weeks, and you throw yourself into papers and essays, and you’re here at all hours of the day and night.”

Dean could talk to Charlie. He knew that. But he just couldn’t get into it – how his late father’s mechanic business had finally sold, and that weekend he’d be sifting through dusty possessions and deciding what to keep and what to sell and what to burn or throw out. How the last thing truly tying him to his father belonged to someone else now, and how he kept bouncing between relief and utter loss at that fact.

“Charlie-”

“I know the past few months have been hard, but if you just-”

“Charlie, _drop it_.”

“Drop what?” Benny walked into the lounge, heading for the pot of coffee beside Dean. He was wearing his usual black t-shirt and ratty jeans, and Dean looked at the clothes enviously. Benny got away with wearing whatever he wanted, because he spent all day down in the school’s garage, which meant he pulled coveralls overtop of the clothes anyways. Dean, however, was trapped by a strict dress code that dictated he wear ties, dress shirts and dress pants.

“Nothing,” He said, “Charlie was just getting a little too excited about meeting the new blood.”  
  
“Oh right – I forgot that was today.” Benny frowned a little, running a thick hand over the stubble on his jaw. “Boy, am I glad Mothball Marv is gone.”

“Right?” Dean agreed readily.

“You guys are bullies.” Charlie pouted, and Benny chuckled. Dean glanced at him gratefully. There was something soothing about Benny – the way his eyes crinkled, the rough saltiness to his voice. He had a way of dispelling the tension, which often came in useful.

Other teachers had started to trickle into the lounge now, throwing jackets onto the second-hand couches as their voices bounced around the walls. Dean glanced at the clock, wondering what his chances were of getting his first period class to do something quiet, so he could maybe sit at his desk and close his eyes for a while. 

Just then, a short, commanding woman in a pantsuit – Principle Tran - walked into the room, followed by someone Dean had never seen before. Right away, everything about him resembled the stereotypical university professor – his hair was dark and there was the faint shadow of stubble across his jaw, and he was wearing a crisp suit. Dean glanced down subconsciously; suddenly aware of a faded mustard stain he knew was sitting near the collar of his shirt.

Benny and Charlie didn’t seem to have noticed him, but Dean watched as Tran moved around the room, introducing him to the different teachers. While he’d utterly failed to mask his indifference before, a sudden curiosity stirred in his gut as he watched the man. Maybe it was because that, in some form or another, this guy would be a distraction – and what Dean needed right then, especially with Charlie badgering him with questions, was a distraction.

Tran introduced the guy to Charlie, and Charlie turned a mega-watt smile on him. Dean watched his reaction carefully; all too often he’d seen Charlie inadvertently reel poor, unsuspecting bastards in with that smile, only to throw them back when she told them she was gay. This guy, though, only smiled at her politely.

Huh. That had never really happened before.

Then Tran was moving on to Dean, and before he could really prepare himself she was saying, “This is Dean Winchester; he has the classroom right beside yours. He teaches American Lit. Dean, this is Castiel Novak. He’ll be taking over Mr. Shurley’s classes.”

Dean shifted his mug to his left hand, plastering on his best _I’m-a-grown-up-I-swear_ smile as he shook the man’s hand. And then a few things happened at once.

Immediately, his eyes clashed with a shock of blue – blue like an electric current, so sharp and startling that Dean gave a small intake of breath. His hand slid into Castiel’s, and the man’s skin was soft and his grip was warm and firm; just that small contact sent a rattling vibration down Dean’s spine. As he stared, somewhat fixated, a single thought ran through his mind:

_Oh._

“Pleasure to meet you.” Castiel said, and oh my, _that voice._ It was smooth and low, but rough around the edges; like water running over gravel.

“Likewise.” Dean was amazed he’d managed a reply, and then Castiel was moving on to Benny. When his hand left his, Dean’s skin felt cold and empty. He put his hand in his pocket to chase away the sensation.

“Mr. Novak isn’t only new to Lawrence Private, but to Lawrence as well.” Tran said, her smile stretching across her face. “I trust you all will make him feel welcome.”

Benny wrapped a thick arm around Dean’s shoulders, clapping him on the arm.

“You can count on us, Boss.” He said.

Dean smiled weakly.

 

xXx

 

“Chambers, don’t think I can’t see what you’re doing.” Dean’s voice broke through the quiet of his classroom. His second period seniors were supposed to be reading their latest chapter from _The Catcher In The Rye_ , but Krissy’s eyes hadn’t been on her book in ten minutes. Her hand was wrapped around her cellphone just beneath her desk. “Bring it up.”

“Come on, seriously?” She whined, “I _just_ got it back. Blake took it from me last week.” 

“ _Mrs._ Blake.” Dean corrected. “And that’s not my problem. You should leave it in your locker, like everyone else.”

Groaning, Krissy walked to the front of the class, dropping her phone in Dean’s open hand. She looked so miserable, though, that he couldn’t help but soften a little.

“I won’t take it for the whole week.” He said quietly, closing his fingers around it. “Just until the end of the day. But I don’t wanna see it in my class again, capiche?” 

Krissy brightened a little, but she nodded gravely. “I capiche.”

“Alright.” He nodded, and Krissy walked back to her desk. Dean scowled at the phone, certain that the battle he was fighting with cell phones was a losing one – even he found himself checking his phone during class. Not that anybody ever texted him.

Dean clicked the single button at the bottom of the phone. The screen lit up, revealing the background photo of an actor – Dean couldn’t remember his name, it started with an “S”, he was pretty sure – pouring a bottle of Jack Daniel’s all over himself. His eyes roamed down the actor’s body, at the way his wet shirt clung to the carved muscles of his torso, tensed from the sensation of the liquid. Dean shifted uncomfortably.

 _Well, that’s a waste of alcohol,_ he thought to himself, just to bring his thoughts back to safer waters. Sighing, his dropped the phone onto his desk. 

There was a hand up at the back of the class.

“Yes, Turner?”  Dean asked warily. Jesse was a smart enough kid, but he had the habit of taking all of the material way too seriously. Dean found himself constantly biting his tongue around the command to _lighten up – it’s just high school, kid._

“Are you sure this is appropriate for school?” He asked. Dean bit back a groan.

“Of course it is. It’s been in the curriculum for forty years. Why?”

“Well… Holden just invited a prostitute up to his room.”

“Yeah. And?” 

“And…” Jesse’s dark eyebrows furrowed. “Well, isn’t that giving us the wrong idea?” 

“Why?” Krissy piped up, “You thinking about going and picking up a hooker now?”

Dean shot her a warning glance, but he had to fight back a smile. He looked at Jesse. “Okay, so the book’s not all rainbows and butterflies. But that’s life. Keep reading – it’ll make sense by the end of the chapter.”

Jesse didn’t look convinced, but he pressed his mouth shut and returned to the book. Dean ran his hands through his hair, looking around at the rest of the students. Most of them seemed interested enough in the book, but some were shooting glances at the clock, and others would send the odd whispered comment to their friend. Dean made a mental note to get a better sleep tonight, so that he could put a decent effort into a lecture tomorrow. He didn’t become a teacher to be a glorified babysitter – that’s why he was teaching high school and not kindergarten.

Dean’s eyes moved down the lines of students, the school uniform offering a distinct pattern: the indigo blazers, the blue ties, all spaced out perfectly in rows. It was sort of hypnotizing.

Then, his eyes fell on a kid in the front row. His blazer was rumpled and his tie was a little loose, his sandy blonde hair falling over his face as he rested his head on the open pages of his book. The boy’s long legs were curled awkwardly beneath him, and his mouth was hanging open. Dean would be surprised if he wasn’t drooling.

The bell rang, and the rest of the students jumped into action – they packed away their books and gathered bags. The kid, though, remained motionless.

Dean stood up, crossing his arms as he watched his class file out. “Finish this chapter for tomorrow.” He said above the din, “And be prepared to talk about Holden’s motivations behind getting a prostitute, and the outcome. Chambers – remember to come get your phone after class. I don’t want to hunt you down.”

The kid was still sleeping, and a few kids stopped to snicker at him, even taking their phones out to snap pictures.

“Alright, alright.” Dean waved them along. _Vultures,_ he thought to himself. Once the class was empty, Dean stood in front of kid’s desk, watching him for a moment before reaching out and hitting the desk’s leg with his foot. 

“Hey,” He said, “Winkin’ Blinkin’ and Nod.”

The boy’s head shot up, and he looked around blearily.

“Yeah, you’ve been out for about twenty minutes.” Dean said, frowning at him. “I’ve got some slackers in my classes, but you’re usually not one of them. What’s the deal, Michael?”

Michael looked up at Dean quickly, but then he dropped his gaze, busying himself with gathering up his books. “I’m sorry, I just didn’t get a lot of sleep last night. It won’t happen again, I promise.”

The kid sounded so guilty, and ice trickled down Dean’s spine. Michael did hang out with a bit of a tougher crowd – the kids with piercings and band stickers on their notebooks and scratched iPods in their hands – but Michael was good. He got high grades and always showed up to class. This wasn’t like him.

“Alright.” Dean said, though he looked at Michael warily. “Just try and catch up on some sleep tonight. Now get going to your next class, or you’re going to be late.” Dean nodded to the door, and Michael hurried off. For a second he just watched him go. Then he stepped forward and sank down into the seat Michael had just vacated, dropping his face onto his arms. 

Dean had a free period, and he supposed he should use the time to mark papers or prepare for his next class. But all he wanted to do was sleep. It was ridiculous that he’d just been lecturing some poor kid on how to take care of himself, when Dean himself couldn’t even do it right. Then again, he couldn’t nap during his free period even if he wanted to – because it was also Charlie’s free period, and Charlie and Peace And Quite didn’t exactly go together.

As if on queue, he heard Charlie walk into the room and sit down in the desk next to him, crossing her legs in the aisle.

“Dean, how old are you?” She asked.

“Twenty eight. Why?” Dean’s voice was muffled.

“Because you act like you’re fifty.” 

Dean lifted his head. “Wow, you’re full of compliments today. You really know how to boost a guy’s confidence.” 

“You know that’s not how I meant it.” Charlie’s expression softened. “It’s just, you haven’t been acting like yourself. I think you’ve got yourself in a funk, and you just don’t know how to get out of it.” 

“A _funk_ , Charlie?” Dean scowled at her. “I’m fine, and I’m most definitely not in a _funk_.” 

“Okay, I believe you.” Charlie said, way too easily. Dean narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “So prove it. Come out with Benny and me this weekend. Pamela’s. My treat.”

Dean hesitated. As much as he didn’t want to go out, he supposed if he made himself go out – if he plastered on a smile and laughed at the right moments - it might get them off his back.

“I’ll think about it.” He said, and Charlie seemed to take that for the minor victory it was. They were quiet for a moment, and then she reached out, tapping Dean’s foot with hers.

“So…” She asked, “What do you think of the new guy?”

Dean looked away, carefully composing his features as he stared at the grain in the wood of the desk. The truth was, he’d secretly been obsessing over those five minutes all morning. Dean was a naturally closed-off person, but with just a look and a simple touch and the guy had awakened a reaction in him that Dean hadn’t allowed himself to feel in _years._ What gave him the right to do that?

Of course, there was the possibility it had all been in his imagination. But the fact that Dean was imagining these things wasn’t all that comforting, either.

“I only met him for five minutes.” Dean said shortly, not daring to meet her gaze.

“I think he’s dreamy.” Charlie admitted. “In obvious, professor-like ways. Way too classy for this place. I heard he’s way over-qualified.”

“Yeah?” Dean looked up at her now, allowing himself to feel some hope at those words. “He might not last long here, then. He might get bored.”

“Not if Tran has anything to do with it.” Charlie replied dubiously. “Did you see her face? She’s smitten.”

Dean internally cringed at the word. 

“You didn’t answer my question, though.” Charlie bumped his foot again.

“What?” Dean stalled.

“What do you think of him?”

“I barely know the guy.” Dean said indignantly.

“Okay well, call me crazy, but I thought I noticed something when she introduced you two.”

“Like what?” Dean demanded, and then regretted it.

“At risk at sounding horribly cliché? A spark, I guess.” Charlie shrugged.

“You’re crazy.” Dean snapped.

“I’m just telling you what I saw.” Charlie said defensively. “You’ve been the living embodiment of a dark raincloud for months now, and you lit up the moment you saw him. I thought your eyes had turned into hearts.”

Dean levelled a gaze at her that would make flowers wilt.

“Okay, maybe a wee bit of an exaggeration.” Charlie amended weakly. “All I’m saying is, there’s nothing wrong with natural chemistry. And he seems like a really nice guy, so maybe you should get to know him.”

“I don’t need any more friends.” Dean replied snippily, “I already have you and Benny, and you’re both royal pains in my ass.” He used the jibe to cover up his affection, smiling humorlessly at her.

“God, I’m so sick of your _I’m destined to live and die alone_ crap.” Charlie scowled at him. “Some people are cut out to be alone – like nuns. Or hermits. You, however, are not.”

“I’m not _destined_ to be alone,” Dean argued, “I’m _choosing_ to be alone. Big difference.”

“I give up.” Charlie shook her head, pushing herself to her feet and heading for the door. Guilt settled in Dean’s stomach, heavy and distinct.

“Hey, I’m not _that_ much of an asshole.” He called after her. “I said I’d go to Pam’s, didn’t I?”

Charlie stopped at the door, turning around to face him. “You said you’d think about it.”

“Yeah, well, I thought about it.” Dean replied, fully aware that he would regret the words coming out of his mouth. But he couldn’t help it, especially when Charlie looked like a puppy who’d just been kicked. “And you’re right; I need a night out. So I’m in.”

“I’m gunna hold you to that.” Charlie warned.

“I know.” Dean gave a nod, and Charlie searched his face for a second, before turning and disappearing down the hall. Dean groaned, looking up at the ceiling and sending curses up to a God he had never in his life actually prayed to, before letting his head drop back on his arms.


	2. Home

When Dean had outgrown the notion that his father was indestructible, he soon became convinced that he would die in a way that was violent and bloody. In any case, there was no way that John Winchester would go quietly. For the greater part of his teenage years, Dean spent half his time waiting for late-night phone calls; explaining some alcohol-fuelled collision or a bar fight gone horribly wrong. He waited for the biker gangs that ambled through his old man’s garage to finally get the better of him. For one of the many people he’d pissed off to come knocking on his door and give John just what he’d had coming.

So it really was a surprise when, late one night, a heart attack is what finally took John Winchester. He was alone in his apartment kitchen; no one was around to somehow sense the scream he didn’t make, clutching his chest and reaching for the counter, his knees buckling beneath him as he crumpled like an old building after someone had pressed the detonator.

Of course, no one knew if this is actually what it had looked like when John died. Bobby Singer was the one who found him – which was fitting in a way, considering he’d been cleaning up John’s messes for over thirty years – and by that time, John’s body was already cold; the colour leeched from his lips.

The hospital announced him Dead On Arrival. The funeral was four days later. 

And all things considered, Dean handled it just fine. After that first week, there were no real breakdowns or benders; life continued on for those John had left behind to live it.

The only real evidence of Dean’s lingering grief were the nightmares: dreams where he’d find himself in that kitchen, witness to a hundred different variations of the attack that finally claimed his father. He’d wake up in a cold sweat, only falling asleep again after he’d turned on a few lights or maybe the TV, trying to make his own empty apartment seem fuller than it was. And since no one was around to witness it, as far as anyone else was considered, Dean was doing just fine.

He was fine when they picked out the coffin for his funeral and he was fine when they packed up his apartment; he was fine when his family started talking about the man in the past tense. And he was fine when, that Sunday, they packed up what was left of his father’s things from the garage near the edge of town.

The mid-October air was cool and their breath rose in puffs around them, but Dean’s skin still prickled with heat as he pushed the last of the boxes into the back of the Impala.

“It’s kind of strange, isn’t it?” Sam asked, smearing the dust off his hands. “He worked at this place for forty years, and all that we found worth saving was a box of old photographs and few ratty jackets.”

“It was the garage, Sam.” Dean didn’t look at him, just slammed the trunk closed. “So he didn’t have a lot of personal stuff. It’s not like he lived here.”

Sam pressed his lips together, because they both knew what he wasn’t saying: that when they’d cleaned out his apartment, there hadn’t been much worth saving there, either.

Dean glanced at the garage. The words _Winchesters & Sons _could be seen, just vaguely, painted above the garage doors. He looked away, ignoring the horribly empty feeling those words inspired in his gut.

Mary walked around the side of the car then, the autumn wind pulling blonde strands of hair across her face. She looked at the fading façade of the garage.

“You know, I do miss your father; even if he drove me crazy.” She said, “But I will _not_ miss this place.”

“Come on,” Sam grinned jokingly, trying to lighten the mood, “Grease? Dirt? Testosterone? It’s got your name written all over it.”

Mary laughed softly, before her eyes moved over to Dean. He was barely paying attention to them, staring instead at the garage as if it were his mortal enemy. Which, in a way, it sort of was.

“Dean,” She said quietly, and Dean turned to her. “Why don’t you come over for dinner?”

Mary’s eyes were tight and worried. She probably suspected Dean was going to go home and drink himself into a stupor – a knee-jerk reaction after the day’s task of rummaging through the remnants of his father’s dusty life. But in reality, he’d been planning on going home, crawling into bed, and not emerging until morning. Seeing as how it wasn’t even seven o’clock, though, he figured that probably wasn’t all that healthy, either.

“Yeah,” Sam encouraged, a hopeful smile on his lips. “Sarah’s gunna meet us there; it’ll be great. Just the four of us.”

Dean looked from his younger brother to his mom, hesitating. For years, Sunday suppers had been a Winchester tradition for the three of them – even after the boys had moved out. Ever since John died, though, the weekly ritual had quickly dropped off. Dean knew that was mostly his own doing.

He wasn’t sure why he was so reluctant to go over to his mom’s house. John didn’t live there anymore – they’d been divorced for over twenty years – so it’s not like his absence would be more pronounced in that house. Still, Dean found himself reaching for any excuse not to go over.

Looking at his mom, though, he could tell she was worried. She was trying to smile, but her kind eyes were tight and drawn. Dean felt himself cave.

“Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

 

xXx

 

Dean had always liked doing the dishes. There was something about the process that was so comforting – the soothing hot water, the steady rhythm of wash and dry, the satisfaction of watching dirty dishes become spotless again. It was about the only cleaning he had the patience for. Which was probably why his own kitchen was always pristine, while dirty clothes were strewn across furniture and stacks of papers and books cluttered the tabletops.

Now, he leaned against his mom’s kitchen counter, drying the clean dishes she handed him. Sam and Sarah still sat at the kitchen table. Sarah’s face was lit up with a warm smile, and Sam was laughing quietly. Dean’s eyes softened as he watched them.

“She seems better, doesn’t she?” He asked his mom quietly. Mary looked over her shoulder at the couple, a sad smile touching her lips.

“She does. I think she’s finally coming around.”

“It’s good to see.” Dean said, turning and putting a bowl up in its place in the cupboard. Mary watched him, her hands absently moving around in the soapy dishwater.

“What about you?” She asked, worried lines creasing her forehead.

Dean swallowed. His customary answer to this was _I’m fine,_ but he could never really say that to his mom. Partly because she never believed him anyways, but mostly because he could never forgive himself for trying to lie to her. He looked over at her, his eyes hard as he silently pleaded with her not to make him say it out loud.

Mary, bless her soul, dropped her gaze to the dishwater.

“Dean…” She sighed, “I’m worried about you. I never see you anymore, you never go out from the sounds of it; Sarah says you’re at the school at God-awful hours in the morning. And when’s the last time someone’s even been around at your place? How do I know you’ve been looking after yourself, eating a decent meal?”

Dean swallowed guiltily. The truth was, most of the time, he just didn’t manage to eat. It was like it didn’t cross his mind. He was hardly ever hungry, and he would forget to pick up groceries or takeout; cooking suddenly seemed too hard, nevermind how much he used to love it. Tonight when he sat down at the table, he’d sort of snapped out of it; because his mom and brother were there, and everything was familiar and warm. And he’d suddenly realized how famished he was, so he practically gorged himself on homemade pasta and pie. Now, he felt uncomfortably full, as if his stomach were protesting the onslaught of real food.

“All I’m saying is,” Mary went on, sensing her son shutting down, “I think you’re in a bit of a rut. You need something new in your life. Maybe _someone_ new.”

Dean let his head fall back, a groan escaping his lips. “What do you want me to do, mom? Join e-Harmony?”

“Hey, watch the attitude.” Mary raised her eyebrows, but there was a smile on her lips. Sarcasm was a good sign. “I’m not saying you need to date someone. Having someone doesn’t fix everything, and you shouldn’t expect it to.” Mary pulled the drain in the sink, and then dried her hands on a towel. “But I can tell you’re lonely, even if you won’t admit it. So just… try to get out more. And come around more often. What, you think your own mother doesn’t want to see you?”

Now, Dean let himself look properly shameful.  “Sorry. I will.”

Mary smiled, reaching her hand up and laying it softly on her son’s cheek. Dean let out a tiny breath, closing his eyes as he leaned into the touch. She stroked his cheek a little, before moving away and joining Sarah at the table.

Sam walked into the kitchen then, carrying his and Sarah’s empty wine glasses, streaks of red marring the sides. Dean wrinkled his nose at them. Ever since being at Stanford, Sam had acquired a taste for red wine, even though Dean was pretty sure you shouldn’t drink the stuff unless you had some amount of grey in your hair. He picked up his bottle of El Sol pointedly, eyeing Sam as he walked past.

“Well, look at you, helping with the dishes.” Sam teased. “Such a mama’s boy."

Dean smirked at him. “You know it. And at least I helped. You did nothing, besides polish off a bottle of Cabernet whatever-the-fuck-you-call-it.”

“My wife helped make dinner.” Sam shot back, placing the glasses in the sink, “Automatic free pass.”

“Oh, is that how that works?” Dean lifted an eyebrow, and Sam laughed softly, nodding. Dean looked over at Sarah again, and his voice turned somber. “How’s she doing?”

Sam took a breath. “Better. Thank God. She has another appointment next week, but I think that last miscarriage was just too hard. I know it was for me. We’re thinking of going the adoption route now.”

Dean nodded, shifting uncomfortably. Right after Sam and Sarah had tied the knot, a baby was the first thing on their checklist. But two years and three miscarriages later, and they still had nothing but a half-finished nursery in their house that was downright heartbreaking to look at.

Sam seemed about as reluctant to talk as Dean, because he changed the subject. “I saw Charlie at the Apple store today. She said to kick you in the balls if I got the chance – what did you do?”

Without really thinking about it, Dean crossed his legs as he grimaced. “I told her I’d go to Pam’s with her and Benny this weekend. And I… sort of bailed last minute.”

Sam gave him an exasperated look. “Really, Dean? Since when is it so hard to get you out to a bar?”

“I dunno. Since bar’s really aren’t my scene anymore.” Dean shrugged. It was mostly the truth. He had enough botched memories of bars and clubs from his college days – not all of them pleasant – to last him a lifetime. Still, that hadn’t stopped him this side of a year ago.

“This is getting ridiculous.” Sam shook his head. “You can’t live like a hermit.”

“What is it with you people and hermits?” Dean demanded. “Why do people keep calling me that?”

“Whatever. It’s your problem, dude.” Sam shrugged. “She looked pretty pissed. You got your hands full tomorrow.”

“Great.” Dean muttered.

 

xXx

 

When Dean got home that night, he found everything exactly how he’d left it. His kitchen counters were clean and the sink was empty – evidence of the breakfast he didn’t have – and day-old coffee sat at the bottom of the coffeepot. There was a case of empties by the door, waiting to be taken out to recycling. A pile of dirty clothes sat heaped atop of the washer, as if Dean were waiting for them just to climb into the machine and do the work themselves. He must have left the TV on, because an Eagles game flashed light into the living room, though the sound was muted.

It was quiet. It was disorderly. It was supposed to be home. But though Dean had lived in the apartment for four years, and he shut himself away in it so often, he secretly hated it. He tried to do what he could to make the place feel like home: put his favourite beer in the fridge, hung up the vintage military posters his father had given him, only played his favourite albums on the record player in the living room. But something had never quite clicked.

Heaving a sigh, Dean threw his jacket, keys and phone onto the kitchen table. He walked over to the fridge and opened it, contemplating cracking open another beer. Thought better of it and closed the door. He wandered into the living room, closing the blinds against the soft Lawrence city lights. He wished the window looked out onto a big backyard, maybe with a garage, so that Baby could have a proper place to sleep. He wished more separated him from his neighbors than just a wall.

But what would he do with a house? He was only one person. And one person needed only one apartment: one bedroom, one couch, one toothbrush beside the sink in the bathroom. So he told himself not to dwell on it and collapsed onto the couch. He managed to pull off his jeans, but didn’t have much energy for anything else. Before long he was asleep, the TV still on but muted, so as not to disturb the already crushing quiet.

 


	3. Running Late

Something was chirping. What the hell was that? Cicadas? A cricket?

Dean’s mind suddenly flashed to the times Bobby Singer would take him and Sam on camping trips. He thought of morning-damp tents and too-strong coffee, Rufus Turner's fingers surprisingly nimble as he showed Sam how to bait a hook, the lake water like glass beneath an old boat Dean was always surprised wasn’t leaking.

He hadn’t been camping since he was sixteen. So he was pretty sure he wasn’t camping. What the hell was that chirping?

Dean became aware of his stiff fingers, cramped between his body and the couch cushion. He wiggled them experimentally, cracking open an eyelid. _Right_ – he was in his apartment. Why was there a cricket in his apartment? He lived on the fourth floor, for crying out loud.

That’s when it clicked: his phone. His usual alarm was set to the tune of a Zep song, but his second alarm – his backup, in case he didn’t hear the first – was programmed to the sound of crickets.

 _Shit._ He’d slept in.

Stumbling, Dean pushed himself up from the couch. His shirt was twisted around his body, and his boxers were tugged low on his hips. He knew he probably fell asleep on his couch way more often than any grown man should, but he preferred it to sleeping in his room. His bed was too big.

Dean made it to his phone and shut the alarm off. Checking the time, he saw he only had fifteen minutes until the first bell of the day. There was no way he was going to make that.

The rest of the morning was a blur. Dean managed to assemble a not clean, but close to it ensemble of clothes, before brushing his teeth and dragging a wet comb through his hair. He told himself his students would have to put up with a five o’clock shadow for one day.

Of course, he had to hit every red light, a small traffic jam and a train on the way to the school. Baby was the only one to hear the string of profanities falling from his mouth.

By the time he pulled into the school parking lot, first period had been in for thirty minutes. He power walked through the halls, keeping an eye out for Tran – or worse, Charlie. Dean hadn’t been late in two years, and he knew she wouldn’t pass up the opportunity to gloat. She was probably marooned in the computer lab with her students, though, because Dean made it to his class unnoticed.

He braced himself, fully prepared to walk into a room of chaos and spitballs. After this, he knew he wouldn’t be able to give his kids heat about being late for a week, at least. He pushed through the door, not bothering to think it strange that it was already closed.

“All right listen up, I’m running a little behind, but don’t let that-” The reprimand was already on his lips, his voice raised to talk above a riot of noise. But he froze when he realized he was met with nothing but dead silence.

Everyone was sitting studiously at their desks, heads poised over open books. They all were looking up at Dean, slightly dumbfounded looks on their faces. At the front of the class stood Castiel Novak, his bright eyes alight with surprise.

For a single moment, Dean had the stupid thought that he’d walked into the wrong classroom. Nevermind the fact that there was a photo from Sam’s wedding day on the desk behind Castiel, or that one of Dean’s suit jackets was draped over the desk chair. Each kid and the other teacher were looking at him as if he were unexpected, and he glanced behind him at the door, as if contemplating just walking back out through it.

“I’m sorry,” Castiel said after a moment, “When you were absent for fifteen minutes, Principle Tran asked if I would be able to supervise, temporarily. My class is working on an assignment, so it really wasn’t a problem.”

It took Dean a second to realize that Castiel was apologizing. His eyes were contrite, probably taking Dean’s silence for anger that he’d apparently taken over his class. Dean was a little slow on the uptake, though. Because those blue eyes were looking at him again, too intense than was really necessary. Dean’s eyes darted down the man’s face, taking in the dark scruff along his jaw and the line of neck that disappeared beneath his crisp shirt.

The kids' eyes bounced between the two men.

“No, no it’s cool.” Dean said, shaking his head a little, “It’s totally my bad – I’m not usually late.”

Castiel smiled sympathetically, though there was a look in his eye that suggested he didn’t quite believe him. Irritation prickled up Dean’s spine, but before he could say anything else, Castiel had turned and was laying a worn paperback copy of _Of Mice and Men_ on Dean’s desk.

“We were just finishing up your most recent chapter.” He explained, turning those baby blues on Dean again, and any trace of irritation was immediately whisked away. “Miss Rosen was kind enough to let me know where you’d left off.”

“You should be late more often,” Becky piped up from the first row, “I myself was finding the novel a little dull, but Mr. Novak just has a way with-”

“Thanks, Becky.” Dean shot her a glance. “Dully noted.” 

“I’ll be returning to my class, since I’m no longer needed.” Castiel was smiling again, but Dean realized this smile was just a polite mask – the lines around his face were too tight, and there was far too much emotion hiding behind his eyes. Dean shivered unconsciously. 

“Sure,” He said, moving aside as Castiel made his way to the door, “And thanks – I guess I owe you one.”

“I’ll have to remember that.” Castiel replied, shooting Dean that quick smile before disappearing through the door and closing it behind him. Dean let out a huff of breath, leaning an arm against the podium at the front of the room. Looking over, he saw his students all watching him with strange expressions. Becky lifted an eyebrow at him dubiously, and Dean frowned at her.

“Is that the same suit as Friday?” Tracy Bell asked, and Dean looked down. He pulled at the hem of his suit jacket, inspecting the shirt underneath – there was no faint mustard stain, and his tie today was blue. Friday's had definitely been red.

“Nope,” He said proudly, “No it is not.”

He looked up at Tracy, smiling with vindication, but she just shook her head at him.

 

xXx

 

Looking back, Dean suspected he had had a pretty typical American high school experience. He played on two sports teams, wore a letterman jacket in the halls, smoked beneath the bleachers, and managed to date a pretty girl. Of course, his teenage years weren’t exactly perfect – his fucked up home life saw to that – but it could have been worse. He wasn’t being shoved into lockers or harassed in the bathrooms.

He always found it somewhat surprising that he’d chosen a career that had him suspended in high school forever. This seemed even more prevalent when he walked into the teacher’s lounge at lunch and scanned the room for his friends. Near the back, Benny waved at him. He looked almost comically big perched atop one of the plastic chairs, while Charlie kept her eyes on her phone beside him, a neglected tray of half-eaten sushi at her elbow.

 _Oh, right._ Charlie was pissed at him. This day kept getting better and better.

Dean pulled out a chair and sat down, and Benny eyed him, his hands wrapping around a giant sandwich. “Man, where’ve you been?” He asked. “I was thrown off when I didn’t walk in this morning to see you surrounded by papers like a damn tax accountant.”   
  
“You’re hilarious.” Dean deadpanned, running his hands through his hair. “I slept through my alarm.”

Charlie looked up, eyeing Dean's rumpled appearance. "Some of my students seem to be under the impression you've had a one-night stand." 

“Me?” Dean lifted his eyebrows. “A one night stand?”

“It’s not that far-fetched.” Benny shrugged, taking a bite of his sandwich. “You’re young and unattached. And kids have wild imaginations. Horny, wild imaginations.”

Dean grimaced. “Man, I can’t remember the last time I had a one night stand.”

“Maybe that’s your problem.” Benny muttered, and Dean lifted an eyebrow at him, biting his tongue around the retort _wanna fix that, Benny?_

“You can’t get laid if you never come out.” Charlie intoned, her eyes sliding back to her cell phone screen. Even across the table, Dean could practically feel the chill coming off of her. He fought the urge to shiver. Dean could take the cold shoulder from a lot of people, but it was different with Charlie. Maybe because Dean knew she didn’t get pissed off easily.

“Charlie, I’m sorry.” He said, leaning towards her and doing his best to replicate his younger brother’s puppy-dog eyes. “I said I would come out, and I dropped the ball. Come on – tell me how to make it up to you.”

Slowly, Charlie’s eyes lifted to rest on Dean’s. “Okay, fine. I’ll tell you. You’re coming out with me and Benny on Friday, and you’re buying. But don’t do me any favours. I want you to _want_ to hang out with us. Like the good old days.”

“The good old days?” Dean repeated. “Charlie, that was like, a few months ago.”

“Time is relative.” Charlie brushed him off. “But this is your last chance. Blow this, Winchester, and there’s gunna be hell to pay. You got me?”

Dean glanced at Benny, who was looking at him in an _uh-oh, you’re in trouble_ kind of way. Dean nodded.

“I got you.”

Charlie put her phone down, and that’s when Dean knew he was forgiven – if only temporarily.

“Now,” She said, “Where’s your lunch?”

Dean blinked, looking down at the empty table in front of him. “I dunno – I guess I didn’t bring one.”

“Honestly,” Charlie rolled her eyes, pushing her sushi across the table toward him, “How do you survive on your own? I’m surprised you’re still alive.”

Dean leaned forward, inspecting the food with a wrinkled nose. There was no raw fish, fortunately, but it was covered in clusters of tiny blood-orange balls. Dean leaned back.

“I’m not hungry,” He said, pushing the sushi aside, “Maybe Benny wants your freaky fish food.”

“Hell, I’ll try anything once.” Benny said, pulling the sushi toward him.

“So,” Charlie said to Dean, “How late were you? Tran was starting freak out – something about an accident on the freeway.” 

“I passed it, but it wasn’t me.” Dean replied. “I got here thirty minutes after first bell.”

Charlie’s eyebrows shot up. “Yikes. What the hell did your kids do for that time?”

Dean looked down now, feigning disinterest. “That new guy covered for me – what’s-his-name.”

“Castiel?” Charlie supplied, and Dean absolutely hated the involuntary shiver that accompanied those three syllables. Charlie didn’t seem to notice. “I have a few kids that are taking his classes. They _love_ him – won’t stop talking about him, actually.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” Dean narrowed his eyes, unable to stop himself, “I expected a full-on riot when I walked into class. And they were all dead quiet. I mean, my kids are good, but they’re not _that_ good – there’s no way they found _Of Mice and Men_ that interesting.”

“It’s his voice,” Benny put in, trying unsuccessfully to maneuver a pair of chopsticks, “All low and gravelly. It’s got a hypnotic quality to it.”

Charlie leaned forward now, her eyes bright with excitement. “I decided to do a bit of research-”

“ _Charlie_ …” Benny warned, his voice low.

“I couldn’t help it!” Charlie said defensively. “Who the hell just decides to teach high school in Lawrence, unless you’re from here?”

Benny and Dean exchanged a look, but they didn’t say anything. Charlie went on.

“Exactly. So I went to dig up some dirt on the guy…”   
  
“And what?” Benny asked.

“And nothing!” Charlie’s eyes widened. “I mean, he got his diploma from Yale. He has a masters in English and then went on to study education. He’s qualified to teach at Universities, honestly. But other than that – nothing. No criminal records, transcripts, birth certificates. It’s like he popped into existence the moment he enrolled at Yale.”

“But that doesn’t make any sense,” Dean leaned forward now. Screw looking disinterested. “How the hell could he get into University without a high school transcript?”

“It’s not possible – especially at a school like Yale.” Charlie agreed. “So either he went into the system and deleted his own history, or he got someone else to do it for him.”

“Hold on,” Benny said, “This isn’t hacking into someone’s Facebook account. We’re talking government-wide records, here. How many hackers are even able to do that?”

“Including me? Four, maybe five.” Charlie replied.

“Maybe you’re getting ahead of yourself.” Dean said, hoping to inject some logic into the situation. “Maybe it’s just a glitch.”

“What the hell kind of glitch just erases the first twenty-odd years of a person’s life?” Charlie asked, and neither of them had an answer to that. Dean watched her, an uneasy feeling settling in his stomach.

“You’re not going to let this go, are you?” He asked. Charlie shook her head.

“Nope. He’s a code, and I’m going to crack him.” She said. Benny just groaned half-heartedly, but Dean fought to ignore the dread filling his bones. He didn’t know much about Castiel, but he did know that for whatever reason, he seemed to be attracted to the guy. And Dean knew that it was best if he kept him as far away from notice or thought as possible, and that would be increasingly more difficult to do, since Charlie had now decided to unravel the enigma that was Castiel Novak.


	4. A Reluctant Outing

Of all the cities that were mapped out across the country, Castiel never thought he’d find himself in Lawrence, Kansas. He liked big cities the best – they offered the anonymity of large crowds, and twenty-four hour cafes to appease his insomnia. He lived his life like a ghost: filtering between hoards of people on the street, only allowing himself to be seen when it was absolutely vital. 

Lawrence, though, wasn’t all that bad. They had a few good bakeries, and some nice bookstores. He’d found a cheap motel just a few blocks from the school, so he didn’t have to put up with the city’s unreliable public transportation. The closest coffee shop they had was a Starbucks, which Castiel grinned and bared, though he absolutely despised their illogical sizing system. Every time he had to specify that he wanted a grande instead of a large, he swore he died a little inside.

And, of course, Lawrence was close to Topeka. And though he’d been on the move for what felt like a lifetime, Castiel tried to make himself be okay with the possibility of staying. Because as hard as it was, this was ultimately the right choice. He was finally settling old debts, and he knew that this was all he could really hope for, and that he should expect no real reward for any of this at all.

 

xXx

 

On Friday night, Dean faced facts and thought that maybe it was time he cleaned his apartment. It would be nice to have clean clothes for Monday, and there were old assignments tucked away on shelves that he knew he could throw out. Figuring a lame Friday-night cleaning was as good a reason as any to have a beer, he headed for the kitchen first.

He hadn’t even made it to the fridge when his phone started buzzing in his back pocket. He pulled it out, checking the caller ID and groaning quietly. He swiped the screen to answer.

“Hey, Charlie.” He said, leaning against the counter. No use getting that beer now. He knew where this was going.

“You’re up, Winchester.” Charlie said. “Lace up your cleats. I’m pulling you off the bench.”

“Sports metaphors? Really?” Dean pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Hey, whatever works.” Charlie replied. “Bottom line: we’re going out, just like you promised. And I need a ride.”

“What happened to the Jetta?” Dean rolled his eyes. Charlie was a miracle worker when it came to computers, but she was hopeless with cars. 

“Dobby’s on the fritz.” She explained. “Don’t ask. I don’t know. Will you be ready in ten?”

Dean looked up at his reflection in the kitchen window. He had changed into a grey Henley, and he was certain his jeans had motor oil on them somewhere – most of his jeans did. But it was as cleaned up as he was willing to get.

“Yeah, I’ll be ready. You be outside in ten, or I’m driving away without you.”

“Roger that.”

 

xXx

 

Fifteen minutes later, Dean followed Charlie into one of the smaller bookstores Lawrence had on offer, a bell on the door ringing as they entered. She made her way purposefully down the aisles, by-passing “new fiction” and “romance” and “sci-fi”, heading for the shelves labeled “graphic novels” near the back.

“I thought you said we were going to Pam’s.” Dean scowled around at the store. “I teach _literature_ for a living. What makes you think I wanna be around books after hours? That’s like taking a firefighter to a bonfire.”

“Dude, totally not the same thing.” Charlie glanced over her shoulder at him. “We just have to make a quick stop here, first. The new instalment to a series I’m reading came out today, and I want it. It’ll only take five minutes, so keep your panties on. Say what you want, but if you wanted to be a lit teacher, that means you liked books at _some_ point. Go get re-acquainted. 

Dean huffed a little, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he moved away from Charlie and through the aisles. She was right, of course. Dean liked a good story. Sure, lots of books were completely lost on him. He couldn’t understand old English for shit and he detested romances, but give him complicated characters and a plot line with some violence, and he was _in._ But then, it had been years since he’d actually sat down and read a book. As if the need had slowly started to wane.

Without really meaning to, Dean made his way to the “classics” section. His eyes roamed over the spines, taking in familiar titles. He even reached his fingers out, letting his skin brush against the cool surface of a few: _The Great Gatsby. On The Road._ He smiled a little to himself as he read them.

Then, his fingers brushed over an even more familiar title, and he stopped. Slowly, he pulled the book out from its place on the shelf and turned it over, looking at the familiar cover art.

_The Outsiders._

He turned the book in his hand, reading the synopsis on the back that he practically had memorized. God, he loved that book. He could remember reading it in high school; how it had been the first story to really wake him up. How he was almost hungry for books after he was finished reading it.

He used to teach it to his senior students. But there was always a sense of discouragement whenever his students didn’t seem to love it or _get it_ like he did.

Maybe it was time to try again.

“Good choice.” The low voice seemed perfectly at home in the quiet bookstore, but Dean still jumped a little when he heard it. Head snapping up, his eyes landed on Castiel Novak, looking at Dean but facing the book shelves just a few feet away from him. 

“Yeah, uh…” Dean looked down at the book, trying to assemble his thoughts, “It’s one of my favourites, actually. I used to teach it to the kids, but I sort of got the feeling they weren’t really appreciating it.” 

“I know what you mean.” Castiel smiled, somewhat timidly. It was different than his other smiles; this one seemed genuine. “Most students, they only consider a book good if it’s relatively short or if there’s a decent amount of swearing in it.”

Dean laughed softly, pushing the book back onto its place on the shelf. “You’re right about that. I swear that’s why most kids like _The Catcher In The Rye._ They like Holden, but they don’t really care about the story or get what it’s about.”

Castiel turned to face him now, and it occurred to Dean that he’d never seen the guy outside of school before. It was almost strange to see him without his usual Ivy-League inspired suits. Now, he was wearing a pair of dark jeans and a black sweater. He looked almost ordinary. But then, there was that dark mop of hair and his piercing blue eyes, both which marked Castiel as definitely something more than _ordinary._

“Listen,” He said, his eyebrows furrowing, “I hope you didn’t take offense the other day, when I took over your class. You seemed upset.”

Now, Dean looked down, willing a blush not to reach his cheeks. Yeah, he’d been upset, because for whatever reason being within a five-foot radius of Castiel reduced him to the hormonal mess he’d been as a teenager. But the guy didn’t need to _know_ that.

“No, it’s totally cool.” He said, lifting his eyes to Castiel’s again. “I slept late; I was half-asleep when I walked into the place. I was just happy I didn’t have to split up a fight.”

Castiel smiled again, his usually cool eyes swirling with warmth. Dean had spent the entire week watching Castiel, and he’d never seen that smile before. And yet he’d coaxed two out of the guy tonight. It was oddly rewarding.

Just then, Charlie appeared around the edge of the shelf, a glossy book in her hands.

“There you are-” She started, and then her eyes widened when she landed on Castiel. “Oh. Hi!”

Castiel smiled politely at her, and Dean noted with pride it wasn’t the same smile he’d given Dean. “Charlie.” 

“Wow. I’m impressed – I thought only the locals knew about this place. You work fast, Professor.” 

“I don’t really know where lots of things are in Lawrence.” Castiel replied, “But you’re right, obscure bookstores are my priority.” 

Charlie smiled at him pleasantly, but Dean could see the gears shifting behind her eyes. She crossed her arms over her book, giving Castiel a quick up and down. Dean thought back to what she’d said the other day at lunch – about Castiel being a mystery, and how she was determined to solve it. And suddenly, Dean found himself wanting to get as far away from that bookstore and Castiel as he could, so he could push the man away into the farthest corners of his mind until Monday.

“Well, you’re in luck.” Charlie went on. “Dean and I know the best pub in town. Actually, we’re headed there now – it’s just down the street. You should come with.”

“That’s very kind of you, but it’s alright.” Castiel’s voice was courteous, but his eyes were uncertain. “I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

“You wouldn’t be _intruding,_ ” Charlie rolled her eyes at the word. “That’s why we invited you. Duh. Come on, one drink, and Dean’s buying – consider it an official Lawrence Welcome.” 

Castiel hesitated, looking over at Dean. With a jolt, Dean realized Castiel was gauging his expression, as if checking in with him – like unless _Dean_ wanted him there, he didn’t want to go. But then, that could all be in Dean’s imagination. His stupid, puppy-love-prone imagination. Before he could really stop himself, though, he gave Castiel a reassuring smile. 

“Yeah, okay.” Castiel said to Charlie. “Just one drink.”

 

xXx

 

This was how, ten minutes later, Dean found himself sitting at a back table of Pamela’s bar with Benny, Charlie, and Castiel. He thought this was horribly unfair. Convincing him to come out had been difficult enough before – and that was when he _knew_ what he was getting in to; when the outing held nothing but the promise of another predictable night with his two best friends. Now, nothing was predictable anymore, because Castiel’s knee was inches from his under the table and Dean was trying not to watch the man’s long fingers trace lines up and down the side of his pint glass.

Pamela’s already stuffy bar had seemed to shoot up ten degrees, and Dean pushed up the sleeves of his Henley.

Benny and Charlie seemed oblivious to Dean’s discomfort. He hung back in the conversation, opting to listen as Castiel talked with them about the odd collection of things they had in common. Charlie and Castiel seemed to share the same taste in books, while he and Benny liked a lot of the same music.

Dean realized Charlie definitely wasn’t as oblivious as she seemed, though, when she challenged Benny to game a pool. As they got up and made their way to the tables at the other side of the bar, she shot Dean a traitorous smile.

He was going to kill her.

Ignoring the clenching in his stomach, Dean gestured to the waitress for another beer. Just like his father, Dean’s immediate reaction to any form of unwelcome emotion was to subdue it with alcohol. Self-medication was practically inherent in the Winchester family genes.

Luckily, Dean knew where his line was. John, on the other hand, went through his entire life without ever finding it.

“You don’t play, then?” Castiel asked him, nodding over to the billiards table. Dean followed his eyes to where Charlie was currently chalking her pool cue.

“Oh, I do.” Dean replied, a little boastfully, “Neither of them will play me anymore, though.”

“Why’s that?” Castiel turned his eyes on Dean, narrowed with curiosity.

“Because I always beat their asses, and they’re sore losers.” Dean’s lip quirked up a little. The waitress walked over to the table and set his beer down, and he took it from her, offering a small ‘thanks’. The waitress smiled at him, the corner of her mouth turned up somewhat suggestively. Dean looked away. She was cute enough: brunette hair, tight-fitting top, nice eyes. But Dean had long since outgrown trying to pick up girls in bars – especially girls who looked like they barely cleared the drinking age.

Castiel watched this exchange, but he didn’t say anything. For a second things were quiet, and Dean realized that nothing about the silence was comfortable. There was too much tension between them: the air was thick, as if pushing around them in an effort to make room for the stolen glances and the things they weren’t saying.

“I have to admit, Dean,” Castiel said after a moment, “You don’t strike me as a teacher. Let alone a Literature teacher.”

“Why not – do I seem that dumb?” Dean asked in mock offense. Castiel’s eyes widened, obviously missing the joking tone. 

“Not at all,” He said quickly, “It’s just… most teachers have a type. When I saw you, I would have guessed you were the P.E. teacher, if it weren’t for the suit.”

“P.E.? Do I look that douchey?” Dean asked, taking a swig of his beer. 

“That’s not what I meant, either.” Castiel grimaced, and Dean chuckled, sort of pleased that Castiel seemed to be having trouble getting his words out.

“No, I get it.” Dean said. “That was actually the plan, at first – teach Phys Ed. It would be like having recess all day, so what’s wrong with that, right?”

“What made you change your mind?” Castiel asked, his head tilting a little as he looked at Dean. 

“Um, I dunno…” Dean shrugged, twirling his glass a little in his hands. “I’m already an asshole; I think adding ‘P.E. teacher’ to the equation would have been the last straw.”

Castiel’s eyes softened, just slightly. “I don’t think you give yourself enough credit.”

Dean’s jaw clenched, and he looked down, shifting uncomfortably. He never was good at receiving compliments, especially ones as off-hand as that. 

“Your tattoos,” Castiel said suddenly, looking at Dean’s arms, “They’re quite nice.”

Dean watched Castiel’s eyes roaming up and down his forearms, and heat prickled up his spine. He looked down at his arms. The colour was a little faded, but the tattoos were still beautiful. There wasn’t really a specific theme to the images. He had that vintage sailor chick from the label of Bobby’s favourite rum, floral patterns on both arms of his mom’s favourite flowers, Sam’s birthdate in a vintage font, his dad’s dog tags, and a zeppelin. It all seemed pretty random, but the style and colouring were all the same, so it tied together nicely. 

“Yeah, uh-” Dean said, smoothing his hand up one arm, “Never thought I’d get ‘em, to be honest. But hey – you do crazy shit in college, right?”

“The detail is amazing. And the colours are great – they must have been expensive.” Castiel looked up at Dean now.

“Actually, I knew a guy who was a apprenticing at a parlor just off campus. He practiced on me for free – I was sort of his guinea pig. Lucky for me he was crazy talented.”

“Clearly.” Castiel raised his eyebrows, glancing at Dean’s arms again. He was used to getting compliments on his tattoos, but Castiel was looking at them with the sort of appreciation that only other tattooed people seemed to have. 

 _There’s no way,_ he thought.

“What about you?” Dean asked, taking a sip of his beer, “Any tattoos?”

Castiel looked down now, his cheeks blushing a faint pink. Dean’s interested piqued. “A few. Not anywhere noticeable, obviously.”

Dean raised his eyebrows, trying and utterly failing not to imagine what hidden parts of this man were covered in tattoos. He had to focus on not dropping his pint glass as he set it back down on the table.

“Don’t tell me you have a tramp stamp?” He teased, and to his absolute freaking delight, Castiel laughed – an actual laugh, the grin lighting his face and his shoulders shaking. Warmth pooled in Dean’s stomach.

“No, nothing like that.” Castiel shook his head, peaking up at Dean. “I just try to keep them so they can be hidden – not many people are willing to hire teachers with lots of body art.”

“Yeah, I hear you there.” Dean agreed. “I lucked out. Still… you don’t seem like the type of guy who gets himself inked up.”

Castiel’s brow furrowed a little, and he tilted his head at Dean. Oh God, that head tilt. “You seem to have a very specific idea of what kind of guy I am.”

Dean’s jaw flexed. “Not really. I just have a habit of trying to read people, that’s all.”

“And are your assumptions usually correct?” It should have come out meanly, but for whatever reason, it didn’t.

“Usually, yeah. But come on,” Dean said defensively, “I’m not the only one making assumptions – you thought I was the freaking P.E. teacher.”

Castiel chuckled again, the sound a pleasant rumble. “True. But what was I supposed to think? You’re young and attractive – I was going by stereotypes.”

Dean looked up sharply, his ears catching on the word “attractive”. Sure, it wasn’t _hot_ or _sexy,_ but it was still something, right? Dudes just didn’t say that sort of thing to each other. Castiel seemed to have realized that, because he ducked his head, his eyes falling to the table as a blush coloured his cheeks. Dean cocked an eyebrow at him, opening to his mouth to – God help him – say something equally as flirty back, when Charlie and Benny appeared back at the table.

Benny suggested getting another round, and Dean agreed, secretly thrilled when Castiel let himself be talked into staying a while longer.


	5. Aging Bruises

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone for all the awesome feedback! I'm glad you're enjoying it so far :)

The weekend ended up being a complete write-off. Being with Castiel had been exciting; in a dangerous, risky sort of way. But once Dean left and went home – once he was surrounded with the quiet solitude of his apartment once more – the excitement in his gut turned to nausea.

On Friday night, he had nightmares. They were filled with flashbacks of smoky bars and an unwelcome pressure in his body, and he experienced that unsettling Inception-like phenomenon, where he kept thinking he had woken up but hadn’t. In his dreams, he’d pry open eyes to reveal a stranger’s bed and a splitting hangover, convinced it was real until some impossible element gave it away – like his father’s corpse lying on the floor of the stranger’s bedroom.

Dean looked like hell on Saturday morning, and he felt it, too. He stumbled out of bed to make coffee, then ended up crawling beneath the covers of his bed again, falling asleep while the cup sat forgotten on his bedside table.

He forgot to eat supper. Tried to watch TV, but just sat numbly while a Canucks vs. Rangers game flashed across the screen. Pressed ignore every one of the three times that Sam tried to call him. Then, for good measure, ignored the texts from Charlie and Benny. 

The nightmares returned Saturday night. He forced down half a bowl of cereal on Sunday morning, only to promptly throw it up twenty minutes later.

Dean tried to tell himself he caught a bug. High schools were breeding grounds for advanced cases of flu and the common cold.

He knew he was shitting himself. 

Late Sunday afternoon, Sam took it upon himself to pound on Dean’s door and demand he come over to their mom’s place for supper. Dean was _so close_ to slamming the door in his face, but while he was used to being bitchy with Sam, he knew he couldn’t do that to his mom. After all, he’d promised he’d come around more often.

Which is why Dean manned up and sat through another supper with his mom, brother, and sister-in-law. This time, though, he could barely make himself touch the food. When he pushed a piece of pie away from himself with only two bites taken, Mary eyed him suspiciously. Dean pretended not to notice.

 

xXx

 

It all came to a head late on Monday afternoon. The last class of the day. Dean had studiously avoided Benny and Charlie the entire day, mostly because he found even the minimal task of talking to be too much. He avoided Castiel out of pure necessity.

Dean couldn’t even lie to himself anymore (which is really saying something for Dean) – it would appear he had a crush on his male coworker. And this was a problem for any number of reasons. Because Dean didn’t _do_ crushes; crushes led to either heartbreak or relationships, both of which were equally terrifying and absolutely off-fucking-limits. Because Castiel was a _guy_ , and there was still a part of Dean that was curled up happily inside of his own darkened closet. Because Castiel Novak was smart and beautiful and kind, and he could do a whole lot better than the damaged affections of Dean Winchester.

With all these things rattling around in his throbbing skull, Dean was happy his last class of the day was set aside for a test. That meant his students were quiet and it also meant he didn’t have to talk. He just paced between the aisles, bleary-eyed and pale from the weekend’s mental trauma. If his students noticed, they didn’t say anything.

Dean passed Jesse, eyeing the long paragraphs he was writing on his paper, despite the fact that the section was titled “short answer”. He rolled his eyes a little, glancing at the clock on the wall as he continued. There were only ten minutes left in class, and then Dean fully intended to haul ass home, so he could collapse onto his couch and hide from the world for another eighteen hours.

At the front of the row, Dean stopped when he reached Michael’s desk. The kid was scribbling away furiously, producing answers that would undoubtedly get him one of the highest grades in the class (like always). But Dean wasn’t looking at his test paper.

Michael’s school blazer was sitting on the back of his chair, and he’d rolled up the sleeves of his white dress shirt. Though it only revealed a few inches of bare forearm, Dean could see marks peaking beneath the fabric – a discoloration of skin.

His blood ran cold. He was only a few feet behind Michael, and the boy didn’t seem to notice, because he reached up and absently scratched his arm, pushing the sleeve up farther.

Bruises. They were bruises, shaped perfectly to mimic the grip of a large hand. The dark colours wrapped around Michael’s arm, looking painful and sore and incriminating. Then Michael pulled the sleeve down again, hiding the marks from view. Dean swallowed, and a hollow, empty feeling pooled in his gut. The room shifted, and he suddenly felt like he was falling.

What should he do? His first instinct was to call Michael out into the hall and ask what happened, but something stopped him. A cold, biting fear crawled up his back and seized around the muscles in his neck, and a cold sweat broke out across Dean’s skin. Shaking a little, he passed Michael without saying anything, and didn’t meet the kid’s gaze when he handed in his paper ten minutes later.

 

xXx

 

Fifteen minutes after the last bell, Dean found himself walking quickly to the guidance counselor’s office at the front of school, all thoughts of high-tailing it home forgotten. Luckily, the waiting room outside was empty, and when he poked his head inside the open door, Ava Wilson sat alone at her desk. 

“Hey, Ava,” Dean said, his voice shaky and uncertain, “You got a minute?”

Ava looked up, obviously surprised to see Dean peaking in her office door. Dean couldn’t really blame her. Sure, they’d talked before, but it was usually during school functions like staff meetings and mandatory chaperone gigs. Up until now, though, Dean was almost certain he’d never been in her office before.

She covered her surprise quickly by flashing him an easy, welcoming smile.

“Sure, Dean. Come in.” She said cheerfully, clearing some papers away from her desk. Dean hesitated, then stepped into the office, closing the door behind him. He sat down in the chair across from Ava’s desk.

“What can I help you with?” She asked, crossing her arms on her desk. Dean took a breath as nerves suddenly kicked up in his stomach, and he had the uncomfortable sensation of being trapped. He pressed his hand to his forearm and squeezed, just to reassure himself that there were no bruises there.

“Um,” Dean started, completely unsure of how to go about saying this, “I was just wondering… I mean, I just have a question. A hypothetical question.”

Ava looked confused, but her eyes were warm and encouraging, in that signature high school counselor kind of way. “Okay. Shoot.”

“Okay. So say… say hypothetically, I noticed something. Say I thought one of my students was having a rough time. But I know it’s none of my business – should I talk to them anyway?” 

Ava frowned as she mulled over Dean’s barely coherent question. “It depends, I guess. On what you mean by a ‘rough time’. There are some things – like bullying, for example – where we can’t really do anything unless the student comes to us first. I’m not happy about it, but that’s the way our system works. Do you think one of your students is being bullied?”

Dean thought of the handprint on Michael’s arm and the size of it.

“No, I don’t think so.” 

“Then what is it?” Ava's brow creased in concern.

“I don’t know.” Dean admitted, that cold sweat breaking out on his skin again. His hands felt clammy. “I’m sure it’s nothing. But say I… hypothetically… got the kid to come talk to you, would that help?”

Ava nodded. “It couldn’t hurt. I’m always happy to help the students here – it’s why I like my job.”

“So if the kid told you he was having trouble at home, you’d be able to help him?” Dean pressed. Ava took a breath, thinking this over.

“It depends on what kind of trouble at home. We can always refer them to family counseling or other services of that nature; that often helps, especially with kids whose parents are going through separation or divorce. If we feel a student’s home environment is unsafe, however, we have to take other measures.”

Dean swallowed thickly, his vision blurring a little around the edges. “What kind of measures?”

“Well, we’d have to call child protective services; conduct a proper investigation of their home environment. If circumstances call for it, they’d be removed from the situation and re-homed.”

“Re-homed.” Dean repeated numbly. “What does that mean, exactly?”

“The child would be placed in the care of their next-of-kin – usually an Aunt, Uncle or Grandparent. If that’s not an option, they’re put into the system and placed in foster homes.”

Dean nodded, though he wasn’t really seeing Ava anymore. He knew all of this, of course, but he felt like he just had to hear it out loud. This verbal confirmation of his fears had him feeling like he wasn’t in her office at all, but floating somewhere near a darkened abyss, in danger of losing his grip completely.

“Dean,” Ava said quietly, urgently, “Do you think one of your students is in danger?”

A part of Dean was desperate to scream _yes._ That part was also the part that salivated at the sight of a fresh-baked pie, who grinned at the hum of Baby’s engine, who happily curled into his mom’s embrace when she touched him. But a larger, more dominant part of Dean – the part that refused to sleep with the lights off, that constantly reminded himself _not to be such a fuck up, for God’s sake_ – shook his head.

“No.” He heard himself say. “No, I was just… just wondering. Thanks, Ava.”

With that, Dean pushed himself up from the chair and practically bolted from her office. Ava just stared after him, her mouth hanging open a little and worry pinching at the corner of her eyes.


	6. Breaking

Dean managed to make it back to his classroom, despite the way his legs were shaking or how his blood was roaring in his ears. With weak hands he slammed the door shut and began to pace, his breath coming in ragged, startled gasps. He managed to suck air in, but his lungs seemed unable to push the air out, and his muscles began to tighten painfully.

Dean pushed his fingers up through his hair and linked them behind his head, squeezing his eyes shut as he tried to get a grip. But get a grip on what? What exactly was there for him to hold on to? There seemed to be nothing. This world was empty, filled with temporary happiness and permanent pain – the kind of pain that came back to slam you, no matter how many times you forced it down with therapy and medication and false acceptance.

Trembling, Dean slid down the wall behind his desk and brought his knees to his chest, his hands still locked behind his neck. He rested his forehead on his kneecaps and tried to focus on breathing out, but it didn’t seem to be working. There was a ringing in his ears, so loud he couldn’t hear anything else, and his muscles were locking down.

_Don’t be such a fuck-up, Dean, the rest of this family failed me so don’t you dare fail me, too…_

_This isn’t how I raised you. God help me I tried – I tried to set things right, to make a man out of you, but I guess you just weren’t cut out for that._

_Get up and grab a rag, for Chrissake, you’re bleeding all over the damn carpet._

_If you would just man up and stay in line, I wouldn’t have to do this! And now I have your teachers breathing down my neck about those goddamn bruises on your throat. So now it’s my fault? You gotta learn to cover that up, what happens at home is our own damn business. You don’t like it, you can get the hell out._

Dean gripped his hair between his fingers and pulled, trying to ground himself in the sensation, but his vision was quickly blacking out. The ringing in his ears was roaring now, pressing against all his senses, and he couldn’t remember where he was or what he was doing there. He just knew he had to _leave,_ he had to get somewhere safe, but he didn’t know where that was or how he would even get there.

Suddenly, a warm hand was pressing on Dean’s shoulder, and he nearly jumped out of his skin. His head snapped up and he jerked away from the touch, his hands flying up to ward off whatever attack was surely coming. He was confused when his vision registered a pair of alarmed blue eyes and a tensed, scruffy jawline. There was a guy crouched in front of him, and his lips were moving, but Dean couldn’t hear what he was saying. He was aware that he knew this person, but Dean couldn’t think of his name or where they’d met.

The guy held his hands up, and Dean blinked, trying with all his might to force the air back out of his lungs. Slowly, as he focused on those pale blue eyes, the ringing in his ears began to ebb.

“Dean?” The man’s voice, low and rumbling and soothing as hell, cut through the noise, “Dean. Breathe, all right? You’re okay, it’s okay.”

Dean became aware then that he was mumbling something, over and over again, but he wasn’t sure what.

“ _Breathe,_ Dean. Just breathe.” The man said again. Dean didn’t let his eyes waver from that stare, and with what felt like a Herculean effort, he pushed the air back out of his lungs. The man nodded, encouraging.

“Good. Good, just keep doing that.” He said, reaching out for Dean’s shoulder again. Dean had to focus way too hard, but soon he had a steady rhythm: sucking the air in through his nose, then pushing it out of his mouth, like a pregnant lady going into labour. Except that was _real_ pain, Dean argued, and he was just a baby who couldn’t go more than a few months without having a panic attack.

After a few seconds, the blackness at the edges of his vision cleared. The ringing stopped. The voices in Dean’s head faded away, and he blinked at the man – Castiel – as he was left with nothing but his heart racing.

Castiel seemed to realize that Dean had somewhat returned, because he dropped his arm from Dean’s shoulder. Dean missed the contact immediately.

“Are you all right?” He asked urgently. Dean’s breathing was far too ragged, like he’d just sprinted a mile.

“Um, I don’t think so?” He rasped out, forming the sentence like a question. He hated admitting he wasn’t all right, and this felt safer.

“I think you just had a panic attack.” Castiel said gravely. “Do you have those often?”

Dean nodded, shame curling in his stomach. “Often enough.”

“Do you have anyone I can call?” Castiel frowned at him. “Charlie, maybe? Benny?”

Dean shook his head vehemently, even though the movement caused his stomach to lurch. “No. No, it’s fine. They’ll just worry, and it’s no big deal – I’m fine.”

“Dean.” Castiel’s frown deepened, his dark eyebrows scrunching together. “You’re not fine. You don’t look fine. Panic attacks are nothing to be embarrassed about-”

“I know that.” Dean snapped, though he instantly regretted it. Cas’s jaw tensed. Dean let out an uneven breath, and he realized every muscle in his body was trembling and achy.

“I’ll be fine.” He insisted. “I just want to go home.”

“I don’t think that’s wise.” Castiel looked over his shoulder, as if looking for back up that wasn’t there. He looked back at Dean. “Unless you live with someone?”

If Dean would’ve been in his right mind, he would have teased that the question came off as snooping about whether Dean was involved with anyone. As it was, though, Dean _wasn’t_ in his right mind, and the question was all too logical for the circumstances. He shook his head and closed his eyes, feeling exhaustion crash down on him.

“No.” He said roughly. “No, it’s just me.”

Castiel sighed, looking at Dean thoughtfully for a moment.

“I’ll take you home.” He said. “But I’ll stay with you until I’m sure you’re all right.”  

Castiel hooked a hand beneath Dean’s arm and attempted to haul him to his feet.

“Whoa,” Dean muttered groggily, “At least take me to dinner first.”

“Very funny.” Castiel deadpanned, and Dean let himself be dragged to his feet. Then he gently pushed Cas away from him, determined to hold on to whatever dignity he had left.

“I got it.” He said. But when he turned for the door, the room tilted, and a wave of nausea hit him full force. He managed to grab the trashcan beside his desk and pull it toward him just in time, before his body ejected the pitiful contents of his stomach into it.

_Great. So much for dignity._

Dean straightened, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand before bracing himself on his knees. Castiel looked at him with alarmed concern.

“Dean, are you sure you don’t need to go to the hospital? You’re obviously very unwell.”  

Dean bit back the retort _no shit, Sherlock._ He straightened slowly, only answering when he was sure he wouldn’t up-chuck again.

“I told you, I’m fine. Just… will you drop it if I let you take me home?”

“I’m taking you home regardless.” Cas replied sternly. “There will be no ‘letting’ involved.”

Dean rolled his eyes.

“Fine. Let’s go, then.”

 

xXx

 

Under other circumstances, Dean would have griped about Castiel driving like an eighty-year-old. As it was, he didn’t have the energy: he spent the short drive to his apartment with his head resting against the cool glass of the Impala’s passenger window, mumbling directions to Cas when he needed them.

“There.” Dean said, once he opened the door to his apartment and let them both inside. “Home safe and sound. Happy?”

Castiel shot Dean a dubious look, closing the door behind him and glancing around the apartment. “Not yet. You still look terrible.”

Dean let out a sigh as he collapsed into a chair at the barely-used kitchen table. He passed a weak hand over his face. “Yeah, well, panic attacks will do that to you. I’ll survive.”

“You should have something sweet – juice, preferably. It will pick your blood-sugar levels back up.” Castiel advised. “May I look in your fridge to get you something?”

“Go for it.” Dean said tiredly. “Though I think all I have right now is beer.”

Castiel walked over to the fridge anyways and pulled it open. Dean closed his eyes, knowing that Cas was right. He felt shaky and unstable, and that was undoubtedly due to a drop in blood-sugar levels. That was Panic Attack 101. His muscles were starting to ache, too; a result of their involuntary tensing and spasms during the attack. Dean felt like he’d been beaten with a baseball bat, and like he hadn’t slept in weeks.

There was a dull thud, and Dean opened his eyes to see a glass of orange juice sitting on the table in front of him. He looked up at Castiel, surprised. 

“I had orange juice?”

“It would appear so.” Castiel sat down opposite of Dean. “I checked the expiration date, too. It should be fine. Now drink – please.”

Dean cocked an eyebrow at the tacked-on nicety, but grabbed the glass anyways and took a tentative sip. He didn’t really trust his stomach, but once the cool, sweet liquid hit his throat, he wanted more. He managed to take three large gulps before he put the glass back down, and almost instantly he could feel the colour returning to his cheeks.

“Thank you.” Castiel said, so earnestly it made Dean’s insides melt a little. Things were quiet for a second, and then Cas asked softly, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Dean inhaled sharply, staring down at the orange juice. “Not really, no.”

Thankfully, Castiel accepted this without question. He just nodded.

“But…” Dean went on, “Thanks for, you know… talking me down. And driving me home. Sammy’s got enough on his plate, it would have killed me to worry him.”

“You’re welcome, Dean.” Castiel’s voice was heartfelt, and Dean allowed himself to look up into those calming eyes. The man tilted his head a little. “Sammy?”

Dean realized then just how little they knew about each other. Which seemed strange, somehow. “Yeah, he’s my little brother.” Dean explained. “He’s married to Sarah Blake, the art teacher?”

Castiel nodded. “I recall her talking about a Sam. I didn’t realize he was your brother.”

“The one and only.” Dean took another sip of juice, then looked up at Cas. Something was bothering him, and he’d give anything not to have to ask, but he _had_ to know. “Listen, Cas, when I was… out of it… did I say anything? Because I feel like I did. I just can’t remember what.”

Castiel’s blue eyes hardened, but he looked at Dean levelly. “Yes. You were saying ‘get me out’. That’s it. You just kept repeating it.”

Dean’s blood ran cold, but he nodded, refusing to betray anything. “Okay. Thanks.”

Castiel offered him a tight smile, but again, didn’t press further. 

“Feel better?” He asked, tilting his head.

“Yeah, the juice helped.” Dean admitted sheepishly. “You seem good at this, you know.”

“At what?” Castiel squinted curiously. Dean shrugged.

“Not freaking out when other people are losing their shit. The whole care-taking thing.”

“I guess part of it comes naturally.” Castiel replied, and for some reason, his eyes were sad. “But I’ve had plenty of practice.”

Dean frowned at him, about to ask what Cas meant, but then decided better of it. 

“Cas, do you think… you think we could keep this between us? I mean, I’ve had attacks before and I don’t want to worry anybody. It’s no big deal.”

Dean looked up at Castiel, his eyes pleading. Castiel just looked at him for a moment, uncertain, before he swallowed and nodded. 

“Of course, Dean. If it’s what you think is best.”

Dean felt a grateful warmth pool in his stomach again, because he was certain that was the first time anyone had ever said that to him.

 

xXx

 

Castiel liked to stick around after school. If he was able to finish an acceptable amount of grading, it meant he wouldn’t have to take any home. That’s what he had been doing his first week, but balancing stacks of papers for a three-block walk got old really fast.

Plus, there was the fact that Castiel just wasn’t in a hurry to get back to his motel. He’d been in Lawrence for a few weeks now, and he supposed he should start looking around for an actual place. He had the money, and there was a realtor’s card burning a hole in his pocket, but something was holding him back. He just wasn’t entirely sure what. At any rate, his motel room was stuffy, quiet, and empty. He liked his classroom, where he could spread papers out on the desk and get lost in the random noises of the school around him.

It was distracting. And Castiel needed a distraction, because every time he let his mind wander, it would inevitably settle on flashing green eyes and freckled skin. His students’ papers on Walt Whitman were much safer to get lost in, even if the poet’s homoerotic prose sometimes set his mind spinning.

He was just running through a students’ analysis of a line from “Leaves of Grass” ( _“This is no book; Who touches this, touches a man; [Is it night? Are we here alone?] It is I you hold, and who holds you; I spring from the pages into your arms…”_ ) when the door to the classroom next to his slammed with a loud bang.

Dean’s classroom.

Cas put the paper down, then took his reading glasses off and set them on his desk, listening. He’d worked next to Dean for long enough now to know that, normally, he didn’t go around slamming doors. Dean, from what Castiel could see, was a very good teacher. The voice that would float steadily through the wall was always even and encouraging, and Cas watched Dean’s students look at him with affection and respect. He was a “cool” teacher, Cas knew; the kind of teacher that kids went to for condoms or other personal problems, never fearing that Dean would rat them out. Castiel respected him for that.

So the door slam, understandably, was a little unnerving. Maybe he’d had a fight with one of the other teachers? Castiel sat quietly, listening for any movement next door while wondering why the hell he cared so much.

Suddenly, there was the noise of a thud against the wall. It was an unnatural sound, and Castiel’s hair stood on end. Jaw flexing, he stood up from his desk and headed out into the hall, before even bothering to ask himself what he would do with what he might find.

There were no windows on the classroom doors at Lawrence Private – just tall, solid oak. Castiel rapped his knuckles sharply against the wood and waited for a reply.

There was nothing. Frowning, Castiel leaned toward the door, his ears straining to pick up anything unusual or odd.

“Dean?” He called, assuming they were friendly enough now that he didn’t have to call him “Mr. Winchester”.

Still, no answer. He told himself he should just go back to his classroom – Dean was probably fine, probably just closed the door a little harder than he meant to. But still, there were goose pimples rising on Cas’s skin, and he could just sense the vibe of _wrong_ coming through that closed door.

Castiel rested his palm on the door handle, hesitating for only a few seconds, before he turned it and pushed into the room.

Dean was curled into a ball behind his desk, his forehead resting against his knees while his hands were locked behind his neck. Castiel knew the position well – he’d seen it any number of times, on the bookies and lower-level cronies his fucked-up family had decided weren’t worth the trouble anymore.

It was the position of someone who was certain they were within inches of their dying breath.  

Castiel strode over to Dean and knelt down in front of him. The man was rocking a little, his knuckles white as they gripped at his hair, and he was mumbling something that Cas couldn’t make out.

“Dean?” Castiel hated how scared his voice sounded.

Dean just kept repeating himself, and Cas was able to make out the words:

_Get me out, get me out, please get me out, just get me out of here…_

Eyes widening, Castiel reached out and pressed a firm hand to Dean’s shoulder.

Dean jumped as if Castiel had shocked him. His head shot up and he looked around, eyes wild and scared, like some kind of trapped animal. His hands flew up, ready to defend himself.

Cas held his own hands up, hoping to show that he had absolutely no intention of hurting him. A pang shot its way through his chest as he wondered why Dean would think he would. 

“Dean, I’m not going to hurt you.” Castiel said firmly, forcing the fear out of his voice. “Are you alright? Can you hear me?”

Dean just blinked at him, looking like he’d never seen Castiel before in his life. His breath was ragged and uneven, each inhale rattling, and he couldn’t seem to manage an exhale. Dean’s face was pale, every inch of him shaking, and Castiel tried to remember the first-aid treatment for shock. Good God, Dean wasn’t going into shock, was he? What the hell had happened?

“Dean?” Cas said, more stern this time, “Dean. Breathe, all right? You’re okay, it’s okay.”

Dean just kept repeating those words. _Get me out, get me out…_

“ _Breathe,_ Dean. Just breathe.” Castiel nearly begged. With great effort, Dean pushed a rattling breath out of his lungs. Castiel nodded, relief making him dizzy.

“Good. Good, just keep doing that.” He said. He waited patiently, reaching his hand out again to rest it on Dean’s shoulder. Now, Dean relaxed a little beneath the touch, his eyes fixed on Cas’s as he forced himself to breathe. After a few seconds, the panic in his vision cleared, and his breathing began to even out.

“Are you all right?” Cas asked, now that it seemed like Dean might give him an answer.

“Um, I don’t think so?” Dean asked, almost like Castiel would know better than him. Cas frowned.

“I think you just had a panic attack.” He said cautiously. “Do you have those often?”

Dean nodded. “Often enough.” 

“Do you have anyone I can call? Charlie, maybe? Benny?”

Dean didn’t seem to like this suggestion at all; he shook his head forcefully. “No. No, it’s fine. They’ll just worry, and it’s no big deal – I’m fine.”

“Dean.” Castiel tried to keep his voice even, “You’re not fine. You don’t look fine. Panic attacks are nothing to be embarrassed about-”

“I know that.” Dean snapped, and Cas tried not to take it personally. “I’ll be fine. I just want to go home.” 

“I don’t think that’s wise.” Castiel glanced over his shoulder. The door was still sitting ajar, but no one was passing by. He was certain Charlie or Benny would have been a welcome support right now, but by this time, they’d more than likely gone home. He looked back at Dean. “Unless you live with someone?”

“No.” Dean replied. “No, it’s just me.”

Castiel let out a shaky breath. One very small, pitiful part of his brain silently rejoiced that Dean didn’t live with anyone – crushes were so much harder to get over when said crush was with someone else. But the bigger, more mature part of Cas was silently cursing that Dean didn’t have anyone to look after him in such a state.

“I’ll take you home.” Cas said. “But I’ll stay with you until I’m sure you’re all right.” 

Castiel tried to haul Dean to his feet, but goddamn, the guy was heavy. Dean wasn’t particularly big – in fact, Cas had the distinct sense his body should have more muscle and fat than it currently did – but that by no means meant that Castiel could lift him on his own.

Thankfully, Dean was able to support most of his own weight. “Whoa,” He muttered as Cas all but manhandled him, “At least take me to dinner first.”

“Very funny.” Castiel said flatly, though he was secretly relieved that Dean was joking again. He didn’t know Dean that well, yet it still seemed more like _him_ – more like Dean than the shaking, hyperventilating mess Cas had found.

“I got it.” Dean pushed Cas away half-heartedly, before leaning over and promptly being sick in his classroom’s trashcan.

“Dean,” Cas’s brows knitted together in concern, “are you sure you don’t need to go to the hospital? You’re obviously very unwell.” 

Dean braced himself on his knees, his face pale and shining with sickly sweat. “I told you, I’m fine. Just… will you drop it if I let you take me home?”

“I’m taking you home regardless.” Cas couldn’t help the authoritative tone in his voice. “There will be no ‘letting’ involved.”

Dean rolled his eyes, but in the end he relented.

He relented into letting Cas walk him out of the classroom, and driving his car – a monstrous, sleek black thing that shook with a guttural rumble when it moved – all the way to his building. He let Cas follow him into his apartment and pour him juice, and then let Cas sit down at his kitchen table across from him.

Really, it didn’t seem like that much. But Castiel had the distinct feeling that Dean letting Cas do those things wasn’t a small deal. He was certain it really had nothing to do with him, though – Dean had obviously just been on the edge of some sort of mental break, he was probably hardly aware of what was going on right now.

Still, Cas watched with satisfaction as Dean took another sip of orange juice, the colour slowly coming back to his cheeks. 

“Feel better?” He asked hopefully. Dean’s green eyes flicked up to Castiel’s, but they didn’t rest there long.

“Yeah,” He said, his voice rasping, “The juice helped. You seem good at this, you know.” 

“At what?”

“Not freaking out when other people are losing their shit.” Dean smiled weakly. “The whole care-taking thing.”

Suddenly, a long-repressed voice filled Castiel’s mind. _You’ve got too much heart, Cas. In this life, that’ll kill you._  

“I guess part of it comes naturally.” Castiel pushed the thought away. Instead, his mind went to long days during cold season; midnight runs for Tylenol, a small girl curled into his side, feverish and sneezing, while they marathoned Pixar movies. “But I’ve had plenty of practice.”

Dean looked a little confused by that statement, but thankfully, he didn’t ask about it. 

“Cas,” He said instead, “do you think… you think we could keep this between us? I mean, I’ve had attacks before and I don’t want to worry anybody. It’s no big deal.”

Castiel studied Dean. Sure, even if he’d had panic attacks before, that seemed like a pretty intense attack. And the way Dean had repeated those words over and over, his voice far away and pained… Cas still shivered when he thought about it. But Dean was looking at him now, eyes silently pleading, and Cas felt himself cave.

“Of course, Dean. If it’s what you think is best.”

Dean looked at Cas a moment, as if trying to decide whether Cas meant it. Cas just looked back. He hoped his eyes were as open and sincere as he felt, even though his instincts were telling him to demand Dean talk to someone. 

After a moment, Dean nodded.

Cas left only twenty minutes later. He made sure Dean was all right; tried again to convince him to call his brother or his mother, but Dean wasn’t hearing it. In the end he left him, crouched over a stack of papers at his kitchen table, the colour restored to his cheeks and light returning to his eyes even if his hands were still shaking.

Cas scribbled his cell number on a piece of paper and left it pinned to the fridge, just in case. Sometimes it was easier to talk to someone who wasn’t family. He reminded Dean he was always happy to talk and help, and Dean muttered a shy thanks, before Cas finally excused himself and left.

Thankfully, Dean’s apartment was only a fifteen-minute walk from his motel. It was dark by that time, the crisp, late-October air nipping at his skin. Castiel just pulled his jacket tighter around himself, before pulling his own cell out of his pocket and navigating to the most-used number in his contacts.

It only rang two times before someone picked up.

The voice on the other end was bright and warm, and Cas felt his muscles relax instantly.

“Daddy!”

“Hey, honey bee. How are you?” Castiel could hear the smile in his voice. He stuffed one hand in his pocket, jingling his keys a little as he walked. “I miss you, too. What did you do today…? That sounds like fun. I hope you picked some apples for me… of course we can make a pie; we can the next time I visit. I’ll probably burn it, though…”

Castiel laughed at the chirping voice coming through the phone. His chest still felt tight, weighed down by the memory of Dean crumpling into himself, but that small voice kept his feet firmly on the ground.

 


	7. A Personal Day

Dean woke up at five o’clock in the morning and knew he wasn’t going to make it to school. He was curled up on his couch without remembering how he got there. The last thing he really recalled was grading his papers, but then his memory checked out. Yet there he was, the large duvet from his bedroom lying heavily on top of him while the TV played an old re-run of some sitcom from the nineties.

He couldn’t remember anything past eight from the night before. Dean tried not to think about how unnerving that was.

Timidly, he peaked his head out from the covers. It was still dark outside, and the lights in the windows of the building next door were off.

God, he felt terrible. His head was throbbing like a bruise, and his muscles were so stiff he could barely move them. Absently, he brushed one hand down his arm again, checking for actual bruises. There was nothing.

But there was a weight on his chest. It constricted and squeezed, making each breath a painful chore, and the prospect of stepping out from beneath his lovely, cocooning blanket was terrifying.

He wasn’t going to make it to school today. His students couldn’t see him like this.

Though it practically made him nauseous, Dean dragged himself up into a sitting position, and grabbed his phone from where it sat on the coffee table. He found the school’s number in his contacts and dialed, not surprised when he got the machine.

He had to clear his throat and give two solid tries before his voice finally scraped out, informing the receptionist he was sick (he opted for “food poisoning” as an excuse, instead of “psychotic breakdown”) and that she should arrange for a substitute.

He’d only taken personal or sick days twice before: when Sarah had miscarried the first time, and for John’s funeral. Dean didn’t like taking time off work: work was good for him. Routines, schedules, forced interaction with other human beings; these were all healthy things, and they were what kept Dean’s demons at bay for so long.

Missing work, instead of throwing himself into it, was definitely a bad sign.

Dean didn’t even have the energy to care. He hung up his phone and tossed it back on the coffee table. Then he passed a hand over his face and glanced around his darkened apartment.

That’s when he saw the mess. The papers that had been neatly stacked on his kitchen table were scattered across the floor, and the pen he’d been using was lying beneath the table, snapped clean in half. The military posters that usually hung on the wall had been ripped down, the corners torn and still tacked into the drywall. One picture in particular – a framed photograph of Bobby and Rufus on a fishing boat on Lake Tahoe – was lying on its side on the ground, the glass shattered and glistening in the half-light.

Dean felt a sickly cold run down his spine. He swallowed, looking around at the mess in his apartment. He knew this wasn’t good; he hadn’t blacked out in _years,_ and even then, he wouldn’t break things. Not usually. 

He packed this knowledge away, telling himself he would deal with it when he had the mental capacity to do so. He just gave his trashed apartment one last disdainful glance, before curling into the couch and pulling the blankets above his head.

He didn’t come back out.

 

xXx

 

The first thing Castiel did when he got to school was glance around the faculty parking lot, only to find Dean’s black muscle car absent. Unease worked its way into his gut.

After his first period class, one of the seniors approached his desk as the rest of the students filed out into the hall. 

“Mr. Novak?” She asked, and Castiel glanced up, pushing his reading glasses a little farther up his nose.

“What can I help you with, Miss Chambers?” He asked kindly. The girl shifted.

“I was just wondering if you knew where Mr. Winchester is today.” She asked. 

“I’m not certain, to tell you the truth.” He tilted his head at her. “Why would you assume I’d know where he is?”

Krissy shrugged, her warm brown eyes shifting away from Castiel’s gaze. “I don’t know. I’ve just seen you talking sometimes in the hall – I thought you were friends.” 

Castiel swallowed, trying to ignore the timid, hopeful warmth in his stomach. “Does Mr. Winchester miss class often?” He asked. Krissy shook her head.

“No. Not really.”

Castiel’s jaw tensed, and he gave a short nod. “Well, I’m sure he’s fine. He probably has a cold – I hear it’s going around right now.”

Krissy gave Castiel a tight smile, but she didn’t look very sure. “Yeah. You’re probably right.” 

By the time his afternoon classes rolled around, Castiel could barely concentrate. He couldn’t help but feel that Dean was, in some small way, his responsibility. He’d heard Charlie talking in muttered tones with Benny over break, fretting over how Dean wasn’t answering her texts, and how he’d hardly ever taken sick days before.

She was obviously worried. And Cas knew that he should tell her what had happened, but he’d promised Dean he wouldn’t. 

Cas tried to put himself in Dean’s position. He imagined having a nervous breakdown, only to have a co-worker find you, and then have to face said coworker every day after that. It was cringe-worthy enough. And to bring other people in on that, so that Dean would have to face not only him, but Charlie and Benny too? It would only make it worse.

But he couldn’t just do _nothing._

 

xXx

 

Dean woke up just past four o’clock when his stomach let out a murderous growl. He supposed it was hunger – the last time he recalled eating was the day before, at lunch – but to him it felt like nausea. He went through a list of food he knew he had in the house (dry cereal, frozen pizza, the leftovers his mom had shoved into his hands) but nothing sounded appetizing. He cringed and turned his face into the couch cushion. Dean had slept for over ten hours at this point, but he still felt exhausted.

Sleep was just beginning to find him again when someone began pounding on his door.

Dean groaned and squeezed his eyes shut. It’s probably just the menu guy from that Thai place down the street. Why couldn’t he throw the menus in the mail slot like a normal person? 

“Dean!” Sam’s voice barked through the closed door, and Dean’s eyes snapped open. “Open up, man! I know you’re in there.”

_Shit._ Why the hell was Sam here? Was he calling the school and keeping tabs on him?

Dean’s body and frayed mind screamed in protest when he abandoned his spot on the couch. He walked around the torn posters and scattered paper, the pressure in his chest increasing when he realized he was going to have to explain this to Sam.

“Dean!” Sam was pounding on the door again. It rattled a little in its frame.

“I’m coming, I’m coming.” Dean griped, hands fumbling as he turned the deadbolt and unhooked the chain. “Jesus, you’d think someone had called in a bomb threat.”

He pulled open the door, but only enough to lean against the jam and regard his younger brother with a sleepy, put-off expression. Sam’s face immediately relaxed when he saw him, but his hazel eyes were still tight.

“What’s going on?” He asked. “You weren’t at school today.”

“What is this, junior high?” Dean cocked an eyebrow at him, squinting in the bright light from the hallway. Sam just swallowed, taking in Dean’s rumpled pajamas and the still half-closed door. 

“You look like shit.” Sam said plainly. 

“Well, I’d look better if you’d let me get my beauty sleep. Which you interrupted, by the way.”

“It’s four o’clock in the afternoon.”

“So?” 

Sam swallowed, throwing Dean a bitch-face that lost all of its bitchiness, seeing as how he looked so worried. He glanced down at Dean’s hand, which was resting protectively on the door handle.

“Can I at least come in?” He asked. Dean’s jaw tensed, thinking of the incriminating mess that sat behind him. But even if he said no, Sam would likely force entry anyway. The damn kid was a beanstalk. “Little” brother was just a familial term now.

Mentally steeling himself for the shit storm, Dean stepped back and opened the door. Sam let out a breath and stepped through it, only to inhale sharply again when he saw the mess inside.

“Dude, what the hell happened?” He asked as he shut the door. “Were you robbed?” 

“If I was, they did a shitty job.” Dean ran a hand through his hair, which was unwashed and sticking up at odd angles. “They didn’t take my TV and the good silverware is still in the drawer.”

“You don’t have good silverware.” Sam muttered, stepping around the scattered papers. Dean watched as his eyes fell on the ripped posters and the broken photograph.

“This was you, wasn’t it?” He asked quietly, not looking at Dean. Dean leaned against the kitchen counter and crossed his arms. Standing up took too much effort. Why was he still so tired?

“I don’t know, I can’t remember.” He admitted. “But probably.”

Sam turned to him. “So you have a panic attack, then black out, and don’t even call me? I could have helped you, Dean.”

“How the hell did you know I had a panic attack?” Dean demanded, even though he knew damn well who told him.

“That new teacher called me – Castiel, or whatever.” Sam replied, and Dean felt hot anger flood his system when his suspicions were confirmed. Of course Cas told him. It’s not like he and Sam had sibling ESP or anything. Dean shivered when he thought just how much of a good thing that was. “He said he found you after school yesterday in your classroom.”

Dean pushed away from the counter forcefully, moving back to the couch. “Stupid son of a bitch.” He growled. “I’m gonna kill him.”

Sam followed closely at Dean’s heels. “Don’t get mad at him. He was only trying to help. He sounded pretty shaken up about it.”

“Yeah, well, you try finding out you work next door to a damn psychopath.” Dean grumbled, sitting down on the couch and burying his face in his hands. “You’d be shaken up too.”

“You’re not a psychopath. You’re just… having a hard time.”

Dean scoffed, gesturing around to the mess in his apartment. “You call this a hard time?”

“Generally, yeah.” Sam shrugged. “Honestly, it’s about time. You’ve been holding this in for way too long, Dean. Maybe now you can start to get some help.” 

“I don’t need help.” Dean muttered, though he knew he was lying. He ran his hands through his hair again, ignoring Sam’s gaze. “I just needed a day off. Which I got. I’ll be back at school tomorrow, and everything will be back to normal. All right? Satisfied?" 

Sam crossed his arms. “No.”

Dean looked up at him. “What do you want me to do about it, Sam?”

The younger Winchester hesitated, passing a thumb over his bottom lip as he studied his older brother. Dean just looked back. Sam looked way too old to only be twenty-four. His hair was getting longer, and there was thick stubble creeping across his jaw.

“Look…” Sam started, “I was thinking you should give Dr. Mosely a call. She seemed to help last time.”

“Go back to therapy?” Dean’s eyebrows shot up. “Hell no. No fucking way.”

“It’s not a big deal. Everyone needs help sometimes.” Sam pressed.

“I can help myself, thanks.”

“Well, no offense but, I beg to differ.” Sam glanced at the broken picture on the floor, and Dean scowled at him. Sam sighed. “Look, I’m not gunna push anything on you. I just think it would be a good idea. So think about it, okay?”

Dean narrowed his eyes at Sam. Usually, Dean was the one lecturing the kid like a disappointed parent. When the hell had the roles been reversed?

“I need a shower.” Dean said stiffly, standing up and pushing past Sam toward his room. “And then I’m sleeping for another twelve hours before I drag my ass to work tomorrow. _That’s_ what I’m thinking about.”

The bedroom door slammed shut, and then Sam heard the shower water turn on.

When Dean emerged twenty minutes later, the papers were re-arranged on his desk and the glass was swept off the floor, but his younger brother was gone.

 


	8. A Peace Offering

The next morning, Dean purposefully arrived at school seconds before the first bell. This way, he wouldn’t have to put up with Charlie or Benny or – his insides twisted – Castiel, before he had the chance to actually wake up. He knew it would be a better idea to wait until he had a few hours of class under his belt first, so he could warm up to talking to people and being in public again.

It wasn’t all that easy. He looked like shit; he knew it, and his students knew it too, because he would catch more than a few of them casting him worried, sidelong glances. His reflection in the staff bathroom revealed dark bruises under his eyes and his skin was pale; his face even looked a little gaunt. Dean looked away.

During his free period, he sat at his desk, idly going through the attendance for his first classes and checking off the kids who’d been absent. He hardly blamed them, considering the possibility that they were out of school for the same reason he’d been. Then his thoughts flashed to Michael and those bruises, and Dean had to fight the urge to throw up all over again. 

Luckily, his spiraling thoughts were interrupted by a soft knock on the door. He frowned to himself. The knock was too calm to be Charlie, and too gentle to be Benny.

It might be Principal Tran, wanting a better explanation for his absence yesterday. Mentally preparing himself, Dean opened the door, and the tight, polite façade on his face slipped.

Castiel Novak stood outside his door, a tray of two tall coffees in one hand. Dean just looked at him, feeling shame and surprise colour his face.

Castiel’s smile was timid. “I noticed you weren’t in the teacher’s lounge this morning. I figured you could probably use some coffee.”

Dean knew, in the back of his mind, that he was angry at this man. But he could smell the coffee, and Castiel looked disgustingly handsome in his tweed suit and dark hair drizzled with October rain, and Dean just felt the anger leak out of him.

“Yeah. Yeah, coffee would be great.” He said, his voice still rasped and worn. He stepped back and gestured for Castiel to come in, which he did. As Cas moved past him, Dean breathed in the faint smell of rain and Old Spice, and his stomach melted pathetically.

Dean sat at his desk at the front of the room, and Castiel took the seat across from him.

“So,” Dean accepted one of the coffees from him, “Is this a peace offering?”

Castiel looked at Dean sheepishly. “I broke our agreement, Dean. I told you I wouldn’t tell anyone, but then I did. I’m truly sorry.”

Surprisingly, Dean realized he wasn’t angry at all anymore. The guy looked so damn remorseful, and Dean knew that Sam would have found out sooner or later anyways.

“It’s alright.” Dean said. “And hey, if you were gunna tell anyone, I’m glad it was my brother.” 

Castiel contemplated the lid on his cup of coffee. “I assumed he would be a better choice than Charlie.”

Dean let out a small breath of laughter, feeling his muscles relax as he did so. “You got that right.” 

Dean took a sip of coffee, letting the warm, strong liquid pool in his stomach and relax him even further. To his surprise, the drink was sweet and smooth. Before he could help himself, he closed his eyes and sighed. Castiel looked up at him.

“I wasn’t sure how you took your coffee.” He said, his rough voice still apologetic. “But I ventured the guess that you prefer cream and sugar.”

Dean opened his eyes, surprising himself when a genuine smile twitched at his lips. “Yeah, you got it right. Thanks, man. This is great – the coffee from the teacher’s lounge is like drinking tar sometimes.”

Castiel smiled at him, and Dean saw his shoulders relax, finally believing that he was forgiven. Still, his voice was low and cautious when asked, “Are you feeling better?”

Dean’s jaw flexed, but even though his first instinct was to brush him off with either sarcasm or a witty insult, he didn’t.

“Not really.” He admitted. “But I’ll get there. I wanna thank you again, though.”

Castiel’s blue eyes were troubled. “You don’t have to thank me. I only did what anyone else would have done.”

Dean shook his head. “Don’t be so sure. Honestly, I don’t think I would have made it home if it weren’t for you. So thanks. I mean it.”

Castiel inspected Dean, his eyes intense and head tilted, before a small smile pulled at his lips. Dean remembered when the only smiles he saw from Cas were merely forced niceties, but now, his face was open and warm. It forced a sort of calm over Dean that he hadn’t felt in ages.

“You’re welcome, Dean.” Cas said. The two sat in silence for a while, sipping their coffees, and Dean realized the silence was more comfortable than usual. 

“Oh, I nearly forgot – I found something for you.” Castiel set his coffee down and reached into the pocket inside his suit jacket. He pulled out a book and Dean stiffened a little, half expecting it to be titled something like _Panic Attacks for Dummies._

“I don’t have many things, but I found this at a second-hand store in Portland.” Castiel explained, putting the book gently down on the desk. “I thought you’d appreciate it more than I do.”

Dean’s eyes widened when they fell on the cover, and he put his own coffee down before picking the book up gingerly. The edges of the hard cover were a little frayed, and the spine was cracked, but it just added to the character. He ran his fingers lightly over the original cover art: black stick figures against a red background. 

“You have a first edition of _The Outsiders?_ ” Dean asked, incredulous. Castiel smiled.

“You do, now.” He replied. “Like I said – you’ll obviously appreciate it more. I’m simply a hoarder.” 

Dean laughed a little, a giddy feeling blossoming in his chest. “Dude, I can’t take this from you.”

“Yes you can.” Cas insisted. “It’s a gift. I have too many books as it is.”

Dean looked up at Cas, but his blue eyes were certain. He wasn’t sure if it was the coffee, or the book in his hands, or the remarkably kind man in front of him, but Dean suddenly felt warmer than he had in months.

Which, given the past few days, shouldn’t have been possible. 

Later that night, instead of flipping the TV to a football game he wouldn’t watch, Dean settled onto the couch and opened the book. He fell asleep reading.

 

xXx

 

“Chambers is handing back your _Catcher in the Rye_ exams, and if you wanna bitch about your grades, see me after class.” Dean rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt, then turned to the board and began to erase the chicken-scratch from his previous class. “Moving on.”

Dean grabbed a piece of chalk and scrawled the words _The Outsiders_ on the board. When he turned around, Jesse’s hand was reaching for the ceiling.

“Yes, Turner?”

“The syllabus says we’re reading _Ender’s Game_ next.” 

“Where the hell did you get a class syllabus?” Dean frowned, and a few students laughed.

“It’s on your webpage.”

Dean shook his head, muttering something about _pain in the ass Bradbury_ before addressing the class again, “Well, change of plans. We’re reading _The Outsiders_ instead.” 

“Why?” Jesse asked.

“Because Orson Scott Card is a racist douchebag, that’s why.”

“Are you allowed to say that in class?”

“Doesn’t matter, I already said it.” Dean wiped the chalk off his hands and walked to the box sitting behind his desk. “And _The Outsiders_ is badass American fiction, which is what this class is about.”

He lifted the box up onto his desk and ripped it open. “Michael, come help me hand these out.”

Michael looked a little startled by being addressed directly, but did as he was told. Dean offered him an encouraging smile as he passed him a handful of paperbacks.

 

xXx

 

When Dean climbed into the driver’s seat of the Impala after school, he realized he didn’t feel nearly as tired as he had that morning. Which was strange, obviously, but he didn’t dwell much on it. Maybe what he’d told Sam was actually true – maybe the panic attack was a minor blip, and he’d be fine after all.

He turned the key in the ignition, grinning when the Impala purred to life. When he turned out of the parking lot and started for his apartment, he spotted Castiel walking down the street in the other direction.

Did the guy walk to school every day? He vaguely remembered Cas saying something about that when he’d driven Dean home after his attack.

For a second, he contemplated turning around and offering the guy a ride back to his place, wherever it was. But when he looked closer, he saw that Cas seemed to be talking on his cell, a bright smile lighting up his face. So Dean decided to leave well enough alone.

With a swirling disappointment, Dean realized Cas could have been talking to a significant other. As far as Dean knew he wasn’t married, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t involved with anyone, right? 

Fuck. That should _not_ make Dean as bummed out as it currently did. But that smile had been so bright and wide… only someone really special could have made Cas smile like that.

By the time Dean got back to his apartment, his optimistic mood had waned a bit. He knew that if he answered his couch’s soothing, beckoning calls, he wouldn’t get up again until tomorrow morning. And as tempting as that was, he was paranoid that it would just bring on the emotional low-point he’d reached earlier in the week.

That’s when he remembered he still had those boxes of his father’s stuff in the trunk of the Impala. He thought he should rummage through them, make sure there wasn’t anything worth saving. But the thought pulled another wave of nausea from the base of his spine.

Grabbing his keys, he climbed into the Impala again and drove to his mom’s.

“Dean,” Mary didn’t even bother to hide her surprise when she opened the front door. “Hey, honey. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Dean said quickly, ashamed that apparently he visited so little that it freaked his mom out when he actually did. “Nothing’s wrong. I just, uh… got those boxes of dad’s things in my trunk.”

“Oh.” Mary’s face softened, and she leaned on the doorframe. “I thought you wanted to go through them? I know he had some old army stuff in there…” 

Dean thought of the posters and their ripped corners. 

“No.” He said, his jaw flexing. “I mean, it’s cool. I don’t really have room for more stuff right now anyways. Do you think I could just stash it here?”

Mary searched her son’s face for a moment, her brows knit together. “Sure, sweetie. There’s room in the garage. I’ll open the door for you.”

The boxes felt heavier in Dean’s hands than they probably were. He made quick work of it, picking them up roughly and dropping them into a darkened corner of his mom’s garage. Even though John had moved out when Dean was eight, the place was still littered with his tools and old auto parts. It smelled like grease and dust and old beer bottles.

It smelled like John.

Dean’s hair stood on end by the time he was finished. He closed the door quickly and then retreated back into the house, shuddering a little, as if worried the smell had latched onto him. He leaned down and took a small sniff of his jacket, only to smell nothing.

He found his mom at the kitchen table, sifting through a stack of glossy photographs from her latest client. Dean spotted pictures of a couple on a leave-strewn lawn, a ridiculously chubby baby in their arms. 

“I just put them in the back corner.” He said, gesturing over his shoulder toward the garage. “I’ll go through them whenever… you know… I have the space, I guess.”

Mary looked up, smiling sadly. “Take your time, Dean. Open them when you’re ready – they’re not bothering anyone here.”

Dean swallowed, even though his throat suddenly felt tight. He just nodded. Mary was still watching him, and she put the photo she was holding back down on the table.

“Dean…” She said, her eyes narrowing with worry, “You don’t look very well. Are you alright?”

“I’m fine. I just had a few shitty sleeps, and it caught up with me.”

Mary pursed her lips. She didn’t buy a single word, Dean could tell.

“Why don’t you stay for dinner? I’ll make something good. One of your favourites.” 

As she said it, Dean’s stomach twitched with interest. But his shoulders stiffened and he curved into himself.

“No, it’s okay. I got some papers to grade.”

“Are you sure you’re eating well enough, hon? I know you get busy. Sometimes you forget.”

“I won’t forget.” Dean insisted, wishing she’d drop it. He felt like a damn ten-year-old. “I’ll pick up some BK on the way home, just to pack in the cholesterol. I promise.” 

Mary smiled tightly, but her eyes were still worried.

“Those from your latest gig?” Dean asked, nodding at the photos. Mary knew that her son was trying to get off the topic, but she let him. 

“Yeah,” She said, looking down at the spread. “They turned out pretty well, in my humble opinion.”

She picked up one photograph and held it up for Dean. It showed the guy of the couple holding the baby on his shoulders, a wide smile splitting his face. A few leaves were caught mid-fall behind them.

“They look awesome, mom.” Dean smiled at her.

“Of course, it helps when you have a picture-perfect couple and a fat baby as studies.” She laughed a little, putting the photo back down. 

“Yeah. Sort of looks like a Home Depot ad.” Dean agreed, chuckling at the picturesque front yard behind the couple.

“I always imagined you and Sam with families like this.” Mary said softly, running her hands over the glossy texture. Dean swallowed thickly.

“Well, you could be a Grandma still. Sarah’s not one to give up, you know?” He said.

“Sarah’s a fighter.” Mary agreed fondly. “But it’s not just the baby. It’s… being happy. Finding your other half; sappy stuff like that. It’s what every mom wants for her kids, I guess.” 

Dean tried to sneer, but it came across as more of a grimace. “Hate to disappoint, but I don’t think I want that kind of life.”

“You do, I can tell.” Mary shrugged. If anyone else had said it, Dean would have jumped down their throats. As it was, he couldn’t look his mom in the eye.

“I’m not cut out for it, mom.” He surprised himself when he heard the words. His voice was rough and low. Maybe it was the attack on Monday, or the way he swore he could still smell the engine oil from the garage, or how his mom was looking at him. He just couldn’t stop it. “I mean, can you imagine me living anywhere but in the shitty apartment I have now? _Seriously?_ Because I can’t.”

Mary tilted her head at him. “Why not?”

Dean shrugged. “Because I just can’t. That’s Sam’s gig. He can have the new house and beautiful wife and that… _apple pie life._ It fits him. Just like it fits you – you two are just alike. But me? I can’t see it. I’m too much like-”

“Dean, you are _nothing_ like John.” Mary cut in firmly, and Dean winced. “Obviously, I loved the man for a reason, but he was more flaw than virtue. And I see nothing of that in you.”

Dean sighed, his breath shaky and weak. God, he’d felt so much better yesterday and earlier today, how the hell had this happened? Fucking endorphin crashes. They got him everytime.

“Well, I do…” Dean just studied his hands, not daring to meet his mom’s piercing stare. This was a bad idea. He wished he’d stayed home with his couch. 

Mary didn’t seem to like his response at all. She stood up abruptly, shuffling her photos into a scattered pile. Dean looked up sharply, watching her uncharacteristically sharp and aggressive movements.

“I wasn’t going to talk with you about this tonight.” She said, not looking at Dean as she stuffed the photos into a folder, “But I think you should move back home.”

Dean’s face went blank. “What? Why?”

Mary put the folder in her bag before finally straightening. “I’ve been thinking about it for a long time, Dean. And after what Sam told me…”

“What did Sam tell you?”

“That you had an attack at your school on Monday. That your apartment looks like someone abandoned it _weeks_ ago.” Mary rattled off the reasons on her fingers. “It doesn’t matter what Sam told me, I can see it for myself. You’ve lost weight, you’re pale; you can barely keep a conversation going for more than ten minutes.”

Dean reeled back, as if each thing his mother said was a physical blow. “You’re blowing this way out of proportion. _Fine,_ so I’m going through a rough patch, but I don’t have to move home. I’m not a goddamn teenager.”

“I didn’t say you were.” Mary shot back, not missing a beat. “But I’m worried.”

“Well, don’t be.” Dean knew he’d feel remorse for his biting tone later.

“I’m your _mother_ , Dean, worrying is what I do.” Mary frowned at him. Shit, Dean forgot how scary this woman could be when she was angry. And scary in a completely different way than John had been. “I’ve wanted you back home ever since what happened in Wichita-”

“Don’t.” Dean gritted out, his hands shaking. “Don’t talk about that. Please.”

Mary closed her mouth, sighing as she frowned at her son. “It wouldn’t be permanent, obviously. Just until you get back on your feet. Then maybe you could move out to an actual house; have some space for yourself. Have a place to call home.”

“I have a home.” Dean argued, even though he knew it was a bald-faced lie. Mary knew it too.

“That apartment isn’t home to you, honey. You said so yourself.” Mary’s voice was losing its edge. Now, she just sounded tired. “I would just feel better… under the circumstances… that you be around other people. You’re too isolated, up in that place all by yourself.”

“I’m not _isolated._ I like being on my own.”

“And that was a good thing, for a while. But it’s not what you need right now.”

“Since when do you know what I need?” Dean demanded, his voice rising. Fuck, he would hate himself for this later. He knew it, but he couldn’t stop. “I’ve been looking after myself – _and_ dad – since I was eight years old. And from what I remember, I did a pretty damn good job of it. I don’t have to stand here and listen to this.”

He turned and stalked from the kitchen.

“Dean…” Mary called after him, but he didn’t stop. He just wrenched open the front door and stepped out into the falling night, not bothering to stop the momentum from slamming the door behind him.


	9. A Forced Roommate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone for the lovely comments! 
> 
> So by now you've noticed that I like to throw in little hints about backstory that we haven't heard about yet :P Don't worry, we'll learn more about both Castiel and Dean's pasts as the story progresses! I've always planned for this to be a longer fic, and we'll be figuring things out as we go along with the boys. Poor Dean, I know he's in a rough spot at this point in the story, but things will turn around for him soon :) 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading, and I'm happy you guys are liking it!

  
I'm wasted, losing time  
I'm a foolish, fragile spine  
I want all that is not mine  
I want him, but we're not right.

_\- Daughter, "Smother"_

 

Sometimes, anger had a hangover. It didn’t matter if Dean hadn’t had a drop of alcohol, or that he had succumbed to sleep before ten o’clock – he still woke up with a headache, and a nagging sense that he’d fucked up; that he’d acted in some way he shouldn’t have. That he hadn’t been himself.

Dean woke the next morning on his couch – which was starting to be the norm, now – and remembered vividly the fight he’d had with his mom. The words he remembered saying tasted like poison in his mouth. He hadn’t fought with her in years, but whenever he did, it was always for a good reason. While Mary treated Sam with loving affection and respect, she almost coddled Dean; as if to make up for the fact that he’d endured the abuse with John for so long without her knowing.

Dean hated it. He hated being coddled, and he hated people worrying about him. So for the next week, he shut everybody out. He didn’t answer texts or take calls; he shut himself away in his classroom, burying himself in paperwork and grading and menial tasks. Anything to take his mind off his life, which was quickly and surely crumbling into shambles around him.

He hadn’t slept in his bed in days, despite the fact his couch and TV couldn’t keep the nightmares away.

He couldn’t remember the last time he went for groceries. Most nights, if he finally gave in to his body’s primal instincts to feed, he would stop at the sandwich place on his way home from work.

Once upon a time, he’d looked forward to cooking. He still had cook books in his pantry and Food Network shows saved in his DVR. He remembered Mary saying, one uncharacteristically happy Thanksgiving, that his pumpkin pie was better than hers. 

That felt like a lifetime away. And Dean was fairly certain he could never go back. 

Mary didn’t call. She didn’t text. And it wasn’t relieving at all. Most nights, Dean fell asleep pretending he was back in that house across town, in the bedroom he hadn’t called his since he was a kid. 

Maybe, if he were there, the nightmares would stay away.

He tried not to dwell on it. There was no way for him to know, and he’d be damned if he’d let himself find out.

Each day at school, Dean was vaguely aware of Castiel bringing him coffee in the morning and casting him sidelong glances. But Dean shrunk away from him now more than ever. 

It was early on a Thursday night when someone pounded on Dean’s apartment door. He didn’t think anything of it – he’d ordered Thai from that place down the street, since he had about ten of their menus stashed around - and he was just pulling a few crumpled bills out of his pocket as he opened the door. 

Standing in the hall was _not_ the stalky delivery kid Dean had grown used to, but the very un-stalky figure of his younger brother. Sam stood with a strangely smug expression, holding in his hand not any sort of delivery food whatsoever, but the looped end of a dog leash.

At the end of said leash, chewing on the nylon so that it was soggy and dark, was a puppy.

Dean looked at Sam, then down at the dog.

“What the hell is that?” 

“It’s a puppy.” Sam chuckled. “I know you’ve seen a dog before, Dean. Remember Bobby’s Rottweiler?”

“I know what a dog is, Sam.” Dean snipped, still looking at the puppy. She looked at Dean with bright blue eyes, her ridiculously small tale thumping against the hallway carpet. “What the hell is it doing in my apartment building?”

“Not _it,”_ Sam corrected, stepping past Dean. With a slight tug on the leash, the puppy followed, nylon still clasped between her tiny teeth. “ _Her._ ”

“Fine, her.” Dean amended impatiently. “What is _she_ doing in my apartment?” 

Despite his better instincts, Dean closed the door. Sam bent down to the dog, running a hand through her fur. He looked up at Dean.

“She’s yours.” He said. Dean just stared.

“Come again?”

Sam smiled, even though Dean was having a hard time finding anything funny about this situation. He didn’t _do_ dogs. Dogs drooled and shed and… growled. He was _not_ a dog person.

“One of my co-workers at the firm,” Sam explained, “He sort of rescued her from his neighbor. Apparently the guy had a dog-fighting ring, and she was gunna be a bait dog.”

Whatever his feelings were toward dogs, Dean still grimaced at that. He wasn’t heartless. 

“Well, it’s great she caught a lucky break.” Dean said, crossing his arms and leaning against the counter across from Sam, “Really, it is. But I can’t take her. I have no idea what the hell to do with a dog. And I’m pretty sure it’s illegal in this building, so…”

Dean shrugged, convinced he’d made his case. Sam didn’t seem discouraged, though. He just pulled a few crumpled papers out of his pocket and handed them to Dean.

“I did some digging around, and I found a loophole.” He explained. Dean cocked an eyebrow at him, then looked over the papers. “Anyone living with a mental illness is allowed to have a companion animal for therapy. It’s illegal for a landlord to turn you down or kick you out.”

Dean looked up sharply. “Living with a mental illness?”

Sam shot him a _don’t fuck with me_ look. “Yeah, Dean. You were diagnosed with depression and PTSD years ago. That doesn’t just go away.”

“No shit.” Dean muttered, flipping through the pages. He spotted his landlord’s signature, and the signature from the local animal control. He looked up at Sam.

“You arranged for all of this, didn’t you?”

Sam took a breath, looking down at the puppy. She was chewing enthusiastically on one of her front paws. “You didn’t want to move back home. You’ll hardly let anyone come over to see you. This was my last resort.” 

“A dog is your last resort.” 

Sam looked up at him. “You got a better idea? I think this could be good for you. Now, you’ll have some company. Someone to look after and be responsible for.”

Dean shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Yeah. Someone else to let down when I can’t get off my ass and look after myself.”

Sam pursed his lips. “You’re not giving yourself enough credit.”

Dean gave a short, humourless laugh. What a load of shit. As far as Dean was concerned, he let himself off the hook way too easily.

“Dean,” Sam said, his voice level, “I wouldn’t have brought her here if I didn’t think you could handle this. I trust you, all right? I think you’ll be good for each other.”

Dean opened his eyes, looking at Sam, before turning his eyes on the dog again.

She _was_ kinda cute. Her fur was patches of brindle and white, and there was a dark patch over one eye. Her eyes were pale blue, reminding Dean of another pair of blue eyes he could never quite get out of his mind. As he looked at her, the puppy wagged her tail enthusiastically, stretching out on her belly to lick Dean’s toes. He sighed, recognizing defeat.

“What’s her name?” 

Sam tried to hold back a triumphant smile. “She doesn’t have one, yet. You can name her.”

Dean scowled at the puppy, who was now gnawing on his toes. “I suck at naming things.” 

“You’ll manage.” Sam said, standing up and pulling some more papers from his other pocket. “This is her info. She’s only five months old, so she’ll need to be fixed soon. And she’s up to date on her shots.”

Dean took the papers reluctantly. He still wasn’t quite convinced.

“I dunno, Sam. I don’t even know what a dog eats. What if she wrecks something, or gets hurt?” He said, eyebrows knitting together as he looked through the dog’s info. Her breed was listed as “American Staffordshire Terrier”, whatever the hell that was. 

“We’ll go out and get her stuff right now.” Sam said, “She’ll need a crate, and some toys, too. And dishes. And if she gets sick or hurt, there’s a vet clinic just around the corner. You’re golden.” Sam clapped Dean on the shoulder, and the puppy barked at them. Dean threw Sam a traitorous glance.

Two hours and an exhausting excursion later, and Dean found himself standing in his kitchen watching as the puppy ripped through what had previously been a perfectly good stuffed dinosaur. There were other toys scattered around her – a tennis ball, a bone made out of strips of cloth, a rubber alien that squeaked – and a pair of silver dishes sat near the pantry. In the pantry there was a bag of dog food. A crate was tucked behind the couch.

Dean regarded the dog with barely concealed contempt.

“I’m just doing this for Sam, you know.” He informed her. The puppy glanced up at him, teeth still gnawing away at the dilapidated triceratops. “One wrong move, and you’re going back where you came from.”

The puppy’s tail wagged idly, as if calling Dean’s bluff. He frowned.

“Look, there are some rules to this place, all right?” He said. The puppy stopped chewing, her ears pricking up at Dean’s voice. She regarded him with curious eyes, and Dean stood up straighter. He was _not_ letting himself be swayed by a pair of (quite literal) puppy-dog eyes.

“One,” He said, not caring that he was addressing an animal who didn’t understand a word he was saying, “No dogs in the car. Tonight was an exception. But I couldn’t leave you here to tear apart the couch while I went out and got you food, could I?”

The dog whined.

“Rule number two,” Dean went on, holding up a second finger, “You sleep in the crate. No exceptions. Capiche?”

The whine turned to a playful growl.

“And three – don’t wreck shit. My clothes, the bed and the couch are off-limits. You’re a dog. Stay on the floor. All right?”

The dog licked her lips and tilted her head. What was it about head tilts that made Dean’s heart melt?

Ignoring that thought, Dean pushed away from the counter and headed for the couch. The puppy followed at his heels.

“Whoa,” He said, looking around at her, “Personal space much? Go play with your toys.” 

The puppy grabbed the hem of his jeans in her mouth. 

“Cut it out.” Dean frowned, shaking his leg a little. The puppy latched on tighter. Groaning, he bent down and manually pried the fabric out of the dog’s mouth, grumbling about being a glorified nanny. 

Once settled on the couch, Dean flipped through the channels until he found a mindless sitcom. He had no papers to grade (for once) and the next day was Friday. He knew that made any number of people in this city happy, but Dean just couldn’t get in on it. He had no plans for the weekend. No real tasks to do or errands to run – it would likely be another two days of evading phone calls and ignoring house work, using the downtime to cave into himself and sleep his life away, convinced that was the only thing he was good at.

His eyes were just starting to droop when something dropped onto his chest. He opened his eyes as the puppy began licking his face enthusiastically, drool and slobber swiping across his chin.

“Come on, really?” He griped, picking the dog up under her armpits and carrying her to the crate behind the couch. He shut the door firmly. The puppy whined.

“Life sucks, kiddo.” He said, returning to the couch. “The sooner you realize that, the better.”

He fell asleep soon after, but before midnight rolled around, he was awakened by a forlorn howling. Rubbing his eyes blearily, Dean stumbled up from the couch and over to the crate.

“Alright, fine _fine_ , _”_ He growled, opening the door. The puppy bounded out, and he picked her up and carried her over to the couch. He collapsed onto his back, settling the dog onto his chest. She wagged her tail furiously, licking his face, and he scrunched his nose up.

“Don’t get used to this.” He said groggily. “It’s a one-time deal.”

The dog didn’t argue, just settled her head onto Dean’s chest contentedly. Within minutes they were asleep.


	10. Autumn Sunrise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I have this headcanon that Dean hates dogs in general, but has a tendency to warm up to individual dogs, given the space and time. After all, he ended up liking The Colonel in "Dog Dean Afternoon", right? :P 
> 
> Anyways, this element of the story is basically just me indulging that headcanon, and living vicariously through Dean, since I can't afford a puppy of my own right now. Thanks for going along with it!

Castiel wasn’t an early riser. He felt like this was at odds with everything else about him, but he couldn’t deny truth. Sleep was too addicting. There were few things he liked better than a weekend spent in bed, sleeping happily until nearly noon, the blankets creating this world of comfort and warmth around him. He lived for weekend sleep-in’s.

As it was, that weekend, sleeping in just wasn’t working for Castiel. His eyes snapped open just a little after six, his nostrils flaring as he tried to adjust to the blatant anxiety coursing through his body. He just couldn’t figure out _why_ he was anxious. Truth be told, Cas hadn’t had a good night’s sleep since finding Dean having a panic attack in his classroom.

Turning over and readjusting the blankets, Cas tried to fall back asleep. But his mind wasn’t having it. A quick glance out the window revealed that it had snowed overnight, and Castiel figured this was good a reason as any to take an early morning walk.

 

xXx

 

It snowed overnight. The first snow of the season. Dean woke up to pale, frost-tinted light pouring through his window, and the sound of something crashing to the floor in his bedroom.

“The hell-” He pushed himself up from the couch, all traces of sleep draining away as he contemplated the possibility there was an intruder in his apartment.

Quietly, he moved to the cabinet beside the TV and took his father’s old Beretta out of the top drawer. He held it firmly beside his thigh, but before he could move toward his bedroom, his eyes fell on the crate sitting behind the couch, and it clicked. His breath came out in a rush, and he dropped the gun onto the cabinet with shaking hands. 

“Fucking dog.” He griped, running his hands through his hair before stalking to his bedroom.

The puppy stood atop the mess of Dean’s toppled-over bookcase. She nosed through old paperbacks and wrinkled editions of Hustler, her tail wagging furiously. Dean groaned.

“It’s too early for this,” He muttered, lifting the dog off the mess and righting the shelf. “I should name you just so I have something to yell whenever you wreck my shit.”

The puppy barked. Dean looked over at her as he began to put the books back on the shelf. She was wagging her tail so fast she was practically vibrating.

When Dean took the puppy outside to do her business, it suddenly occurred to him that dogs were the type of animals that enjoyed exercise. And he probably wasn’t going to get any peace and quiet until the puppy – who was now spazzing out on the end of her leash as if hopped up on cocaine -  was tired out a little.

Ten minutes later, he was walking toward the nearest park, the puppy chewing on the leash enthusiastically at his heels. The morning was crisp and bright, the rising sun sparkling off the frost that clung to the trees and lampposts. The ground was covered with a thin layer of snow. As he walked, the cool air rushed into his lungs and wiped away the sleep from his eyes. 

Without really realizing it, he started whistling.

The puppy perked up her ears, whining lowly.

“You like that?” He asked, and the puppy bounded around his legs. Dean held up his arms and stepped around the leash, trying not to trip. “Hey, watch it.”

The puppy started barking until he began whistling again. It was an old song – Lola, by the Kinks. Bobby used to listen to it on long drives up to Rufus’ cabin. The dog’s tail started wagging again. 

“You like that song, don’t you?” Dean cocked an eyebrow at her. “Maybe I should call you Lola.”

The puppy opened her mouth in a wide smile, her tongue lolling out. Dean chuckled. 

“Lola it is.”

Dean let Lola run through the dying grass of the park, rubbing her face in the snow until her muzzle was wet. As the sun rose, the snow began to melt, and once she seemed a little played out, Dean sat down on one of the park benches and closed his eyes.

Okay, so maybe getting a dog wasn’t the _worst_ idea. If it weren’t for her, Dean would still be asleep on his couch right now. Which wasn’t overall a bad thing, but how often was he actually awake to see a good old autumn Lawrence sunrise? Hardly ever. 

After resting his eyes for a few moments, Dean realized he couldn’t feel the occasional tug on the end of the leash anymore. He snapped his eyes open.

The leash was draped over the arm of the park bench, the nylon drenched and chewed off right before the metal clasp. Lola was nowhere in sight.

Heart pounding, Dean stood up, dropping the now ruined leash from his hands.

“Lola?” he called, his breath rising in the cool air, even though he knew there was no way the puppy already knew her name. Looking down, he saw a few wet paw prints heading off behind a group of trees, toward the tiny man-made pond in the park. Dean ran off in that direction.

“Lola!” He called again, his voice echoing. When he rounded the trees, he saw Lola wading through the frosty shallows, six inches of ruined leash trailing behind her.

Dean let out a relieved breath, bracing for a second against his knees before starting for the puppy.

“Dammit, dog…” He huffed. Seeing him, Lola trotted through the water happily, her wet paws dragging through the mud along the bank. Dean bent down and picked her up, his hands fitting beneath her armpits. Lola wriggled and he scrunched his nose, mud flying everywhere and splattering his jeans. He held her at arms length.

That’s when a familiar throaty, deep laugh floated over to him. Dean looked up to see Castiel Novak standing on the pathway near the pond, looking thoroughly amused at the sight in front of him.

Fucking _great._

“So this is how you spend your weekends off.” He said. Dean rolled his eyes. 

“Not ideally, no.” He replied, stepping away from the pond and placing the puppy back on the grass. She proceeded to roll around, smearing mud across her belly and up her back. Dean grimaced.

“New parent?” Castiel asked, lifting a dark eyebrow.

“Unplanned parent.” Dean amended grumpily. The puppy began to trot away from him, and he leaned down and snatched her up before she could get too far. The ruined and mud-drenched leash dangled precariously. “Didn’t think I’d see anyone here this early, though. What, did you come to feed the pigeons?”

Castiel smiled wryly at Dean’s attitude. “I prefer bees to birds, actually. I’m not complaining – you’re offering some much needed Saturday morning entertainment.”

Lola tucked her chin around, gnawing half-heartedly at Dean’s hands. Dean was handling her like a hot potato, refusing to drop her and yet not letting her get close enough to mar his jacket with mud.

“Bite me.” He growled at Cas, and to his surprise, Castiel laughed.

“My landlord’s gunna kill me.” Dean went on, ignoring him. “The mud she’s gunna drag into my building…”

Castiel composed himself. “If you like, you can clean her up at my place. It’s only down the block.”

Dean looked up, seeing Castiel gesturing down the road with the newspaper folded up in his hands. He was about to say _no, but thanks anyway,_ because going over to Castiel’s apartment most definitely did not fit in with the whole _not getting close to this guy_ plan. But Lola was filthy, and he was starting to lose feeling in his fingers, and it would definitely be nice not to create an even bigger mess in his apartment.

“Are you sure?” Dean asked Cas, his eyebrow arching as he looked at Lola. “I mean, she’s pretty dirty, man. I don’t wanna impose or anything.”

“It’s not an imposition.” Castiel insisted, his eyes patient and kind. Fuck, did this guy ever get mad? “You just… look like you could use a hand.”

Dean pursed his lips, looking at Castiel and then at Lola, who was now growling in annoyance.

“Yeah, uh… you might be right about that.”

 

xXx

 

Dean was surprised when Castiel didn’t lead him to a house or even an apartment, but a small motel around the corner. It was cute, he supposed, as far as tacky motels could go. The walls were blue and the hotel manager seemed to have a thing with owls, because they were all over the place: on the coffee cups in the small kitchenette, in frames tacked up on the walls, embroidered on the blanket on the bed. 

“Please ignore the god-awful décor.” Castiel said thinly, closing the door behind him. Dean had Lola tucked under his arm like a football, having given up on not getting mud on his favourite jacket. “I’ve yet to actually get around to buying a place of my own.” 

Dean chuckled. “I can see why. This place has _owls,_ man. Not every house has that.”

Castiel rolled his eyes at Dean’s teasing, but he was smiling. Familiar warmth pooled in Dean’s stomach, a feeling he was beginning to associate with the dark-haired man. He tried, unsuccessfully, to ignore it.

“The bathroom’s this way.” Cas showed Dean down the short hall and into the tiny bathroom, where Dean plopped Lola down in the bathtub. Her paws slipped on the porcelain, creating long, dark smears of mud. Dean grimaced. Cas bent over and started the water, putting a long hand under the tap.

And Jesus Christ, he was checking the temperature for a _dog_. This guy was killing him.

Pushing that thought away, Dean shucked off his dirty jacket and folded it carefully, before setting it on the bathroom counter. “I didn’t sign on for this.” He muttered. Castiel looked up at him.

“I take it the dog wasn’t your idea?” He asked curiously. Dean looked at Lola. That little tail was wagging again, her tongue lapping up the water as it filled the tub. Well, at least she didn’t seem adverse to baths. That was an upside.

“She was Sam’s idea.” Dean said stiffly. “He thought I could use the responsibility. Or something stupid like that.”

Castiel let out a soft laugh. “You aren’t thrilled by the idea.” He stated.  

“I’m not a dog person.” Dean admitted, kneeling beside the tub and taking off the collar from around Lola’s neck. It didn’t even have tags yet – he should probably stop somewhere and get some. He thought of what could have happened if he hadn’t found Lola again in the park, and shivered. “Dogs are Sam’s thing. He had this German Shepherd growing up – named the Colonel – and he was alright, I guess. But he was the exception to the rule.”

Lola was licking long stripes up Dean’s arms, the drool sticking uncomfortably to his skin. He frowned at her. “Cut that out, will you? It’s gross.”

Castiel chuckled again, and Dean shot him a glance. Cas pressed his lips together. 

The water was warm and soothing, and Dean started to wash the mud out of Lola’s fur. He was a little surprise when Castiel helped, distracting Lola by rubbing her ears and scratching her neck as Dean picked up each paw, rubbing the dirt from between the soft pads there. The water in the tub quickly turned a murky brown.

“So,” Dean said, just to break the silence, “I get not finding the right place, but aren’t you dying to get out of here? I couldn’t live in a motel for this long. It would drive me crazy.”

Lola was slathering her tongue between Castiel’s fingers. Castiel let her. “Actually, I’m sort of used to it. I haven’t had a place of my own in years, to tell you the truth.”

Dean’s curiosity piqued. He thought back to Charlie’s insistence that she uncrack Castiel’s code, but he hadn’t heard anything from her in a while. “Yeah? Why not?” He tried to sound casual and off-hand, keeping his eyes on Lola as he worked a particularly stubborn clump of dirt from her back paw.

Castiel glanced at Dean, weighing his words a little before answering. “After I got my degree, I was restless. I wasn’t really looking to settle down anywhere. So I took temporary teaching jobs, didn’t get attached, always kept to the road.” He gave a small shrug at Dean’s curious stare. “It’s what I wanted.” 

“Not anymore, though?” Dean questioned, turning his attention back to Lola. Cas gave a small, somewhat sad smile. 

“No. I think I’ve reached the age where aimlessly wandering is somewhat… inappropriate.”

Dean couldn’t help a soft chuckle. “Oh yeah, you’re a dinosaur. How old are you, anyway?”

“I’m thirty-three. Almost thirty-four.”

Dean considered this. “Definitely not Gandalf material yet. But yeah, maybe too old to live in motel rooms.”

Cas tilted his head at him. “You like Lord of the Rings?”

“My best friend is Charlie Bradbury.” Dean rolled his eyes. “Liking Lord of the Rings is kind of a pre-requisite.”

Cas snorted softly. Dean smiled at him, but stopped before it could progress to a full-out, heart-eyed grin.

“So why Lawrence, then?” He asked. Lola was mostly clean now, but Dean just let her play in the water a little. “I mean, obviously I don’t mind it here, but I grew up in this place. It’s a pretty random, bo-dunk town to decide to settle down in.” 

Castiel’s jaw flexed and he looked down at Lola; Dean could see a guard go up in his eyes. Intuition prickled up Dean’s spine – this was a sensitive topic. And whatever Castiel would say next, it was most likely censored, if not a flat-out lie.

“I have family nearby.” Cas said, his tone light but clipped. “If I’m going to settle down, it may as well be close to them.”

Dean’s curiosity just sparked further, but he knew better than to press. This was obviously a topic of conversation Castiel wasn’t entirely comfortable with, and the last thing Dean wanted to do was pry. 

He just nodded, accepting Cas’s cryptic explanation without question. He looked at Lola, who was soaking wet, but clean and just about pleased as punch to be getting so much attention.

“Alright. I think she’s done.” Dean said, sitting back on his heels. Castiel got up and retrieved a towel from the back of the door, while Dean picked Lola up, the water running off her little body in streams. He wrinkled his nose. There were lots of smells he didn’t like, but wet dog was certainly high up on the list.

Turning, he let Cas drape the towel over Lola, and then Dean sort of wrapped her up in it and held her against his chest, rubbing the scratchy material to help soak up the water. As he did, Lola pressed back against him, tilting her head and slobbering his chin with kisses. Dean leaned away from her, but he couldn’t help a smile. While he dodged her remarkably long tongue, he reached up and scratched her ears, the fur soft and velvety against his fingers.

That’s when he looked up, and saw Castiel leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed and a smug look on his face.

“What?” Dean demanded. Castiel smoothed away his expression, feigning innocence.

“Nothing. It’s just… you said you weren’t a dog person, but I’ve seen nothing yet that could confirm that fact. On the contrary, you seem very much like a dog person.”

“Do you always have to talk like you’re in a novel?” Dean teased half-heartedly, still rubbing Lola’s back. She leaned into the contact, and Dean thought that if she were a cat, she’d probably be purring. Cas ignored the jibe.

“Perhaps Lola is just another exception to the rule, then?” Castiel ventured. Dean shrugged, sheepish.

“Maybe. I’ve only had her for a couple of days. We’re in our honeymoon phase.” He quipped, and Castiel laughed. Dean looked up at the noise, gratification coursing through him at the sight of Cas’s flashing smile.

It was too cold to walk Lola home while she was still wet, so Dean let her run a little around Cas’s hotel room as she dried.

“Don’t worry about any mess,” Castiel said, sitting cross-legged on the floor as Lola climbed into his lap. “Room service is one of the perks of living in a motel.” 

Dean snorted softly, hesitating before sitting down on the floor opposite him. “Yeah, no kidding.”

Lola was rubbing her wet muzzle on the carpet, her tail moving so fast it was practically a blur. “So, Sam’s idea, huh?” Cas raised his eyebrows at Dean, and Dean shifted. Obviously Cas knew there was more to the story than Dean was letting on.

“Yeah, uh…” Dean rubbed the back of his neck. “I think he just wanted me to have some company. It’s only me at my place, y’know?”

“I didn’t know your apartment allows dogs.” Cas said, rubbing Lola’s belly.  

“It doesn’t.” Dean admitted. “Sam – he’s doing his internship at a law firm right now – he found a legal loophole.”

Dean didn’t elaborate further. It didn’t seem to matter that this man had found Dean in the middle of a horrendous panic attack, he still wasn’t comfortable with just _telling_ him that he had a mental illness. Possibly plural.  

“He’s your older brother?” Cas asked. Dean almost laughed.

“No, no he’s younger than me by three years.”

“Oh.” Castiel’s eyebrows shifted up a little. “Sorry. Just, the way he is with you… seems like a protective, older-brother thing.”

Lola was gnawing on the hem of Dean’s jeans, the fabric turning dark in her mouth from slobber. Dean watched her, not looking up at Cas.

“That’s just how it’s been the past few years. Growing up it was always the other way around. I actually used to get in lots of shit, always beating up the guys who were giving him a hard time in school.”

Cas chuckled, his blue eyes watching Dean with affection. Dean noticed, and it sent sparks of warmth through his system.

“I mean, we didn’t live in the same house growing up, so I sort of felt like I had to make up for it or something. Made sure everyone knew they didn’t fuck with Dean Winchester’s kid brother.”

“So you were one of _those_ students.” Castiel surprised Dean with his teasing tone, and Dean laughed softly.

“Yeah, I guess so. If I had to teach me, I’d probably pull my hair out.”

Cas chuckled too, then his expression turned somber again. “You and Sam didn’t live in the same house?”

Dean’s jaw flexed, and his first instinct was to steer this conversation into safer waters. But for some reason, he didn’t want to. He never talked about this sort of thing – at least not to anyone who wasn’t his mom or Sam – but, he realized with a jolt, he trusted Cas. He wanted Cas to know more about him. 

“No. My parents split up when we were young. It was really unofficial, I guess. They didn’t want to drag in lawyers or go through custody battles and shit.” Dean scratched the fur on Lola’s back, focusing on the sensation of her fur. “My dad had us on the weekends for a while, but… I dunno. I don’t think living alone was working for him. I was twelve when I decided to live with him, and Sam stayed with my mom. Seemed like a good idea – even share, y’know?”

Dean peaked up at Cas. His eyes were sad, sympathetic. Dean’s stomach twisted – he hated when people looked at him like that.

“Sorry.” He said quietly. “I didn’t mean to dump my personal shit on you.”

“Don’t apologize.” Cas’s voice was soft. “I like talking with you.” 

Dean gave a timid smile, and they were quiet for a few moments. Then Cas said,

“It makes sense, then. Why your students like you as much as they do. You understand them.”

Dean frowned a little. “I don’t think my students like me _that_ much. I mean, I think they’re just happy I’m not the type of teacher who dumps a shitload of homework on them on Fridays.”

Castiel’s eyes narrowed, and he tilted his head at Dean. Dean shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. 

“What?” He asked, voice wary.

“You don’t see yourself very clearly.” Cas stated. Dean blinked, taken aback by Cas’s somewhat put-off tone.

“What are you talking about?” He huffed quietly, looking down at Lola again. Apparently played out, she was starting to doze, her back pressed against Dean’s crossed legs.

“I’m talking about, from what I’ve learned about you in the past few weeks, your humor is 90% self-deprecation.”

“Yeah. So?”

“So… you should give yourself more credit.” Cas said. “Maybe your students like you because they can tell you’re a good person.” 

Dean snorted a little, shaking his head and looking away from Cas. “No offense, but you don’t really know me all that well.”

Cas swallowed, his jaw flexing. “You may be right, but I’m fairly intuitive. I find it very hard to believe you’re not a good person.” 

Dean searched Cas’s face, the silence around them growing heavier. “Why do you care, either way?”

Cas reached out then, gently taking Dean’s chin in his hand. Dean froze, his breath getting caught in his throat as he felt the warmth from Cas’s skin, his nerve-endings going haywire. Cas’s thumb stroked his cheek gently, and his blue eyes were caught up in Dean’s.

“Because I like you, Dean.” He said softly. “Probably more than I should.”

Dean let out a shaky breath, not daring to move. Relief and happiness flooded his system, but it was terrifying, because those were things he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in so long. Though it felt like he was ripping his heart out of his chest, he pulled away from Cas’s hand, dropping his gaze.

“Look, Cas…” He said, voice pained, “I like you, too. But… I can’t…”

Can’t? Can’t what? Can’t stop thinking about him, about how his low, soothing voice had pulled Dean out of the fire of his own mind. Can’t even fathom getting close to him, because Dean doesn’t _do_ relationships and he would inevitably break Cas’s heart, and he can’t imagine ever being someone a person like Cas deserves.

Castiel dropped his hand, shifting away from Dean. The space felt instantly cold and cavernous, and Dean hated it. He wanted the grounding contact of Cas’s hand again. But Cas’s walls had gone up, that polite blankness replacing the hurt in his eyes. 

“It’s alright, Dean. I understand.”

Dean felt like he was breaking. Castiel stood up.

“I’ll grab you a clean jacket, for your walk home. It’s still quite cold outside.”

 

xXx

 

After Dean left, Castiel busied himself with cleaning up his abysmal little motel room. What he’d told Dean was true – he could just wait for the room service crew to do it – but the dull, simple task of washing the mud from the sides of the tub was calming.

Dean was a frustratingly confusing person. Because at first, Castiel had thought he had him pegged – beautiful face, jock build, sarcastic humor; he was like any number of Guy’s Guys he’d been stuck working with through the years. It didn’t take long for that assumption to be thrown haphazardly out the window. 

Because Dean browsed through the “classics” sections of book stores on Friday nights, and his students looked at him like he was the goddamn sun. And because Castiel would catch Dean laughing at Charlie’s nerdiest jokes, and sometimes he would look at Benny with this warm affection that made Cas twinge with jealousy. Because Dean drove just about the most masculine muscle car on the planet, yet he was at the park on a Saturday morning, arms full of a puppy he absolutely had no idea what to do with.

Just when Cas thought he’d had Dean figured out, the man would surprise him.

Just like that morning. Castiel thought he had been reading at least some of Dean’s signals correctly. He’d catch Dean sneaking glances over at him in the teacher’s lounge, their lips twitching up in small smiles when they noticed the other looking. And sometimes, when they’d make small talk in the hall, it was all hushed voices and quiet blushes and Dean would minutely shift toward Castiel, closing the space between them.

And then today, when he’d told Cas about his childhood… Dean didn’t just _talk_ about things like that. But he’d told Cas. So Cas thought maybe it was alright to attempt to bridge that last bit of space between them, to reach out… 

And Dean had shot him down.

It still stung to think about it. But Cas was a big boy, and he wasn’t going to pout. He could handle rejection pretty well at this point. It didn’t change how he felt about Dean; Dean was special, and Castiel was lucky to be his friend. 

Still, there was something about Dean’s face when he’d said that he liked Cas, too. And Cas couldn’t stop thinking about it.


	11. The Haziness of Midnight

 

Dean should have bought more than one leash. As it was, he walked home carrying Lola in his arms, with what was left of her leash lying in a trashcan outside of Cas’s motel.

Dean’s stomach twisted uncomfortably. He swore he could still feel Cas’s fingers, feather-light and sun-warm, gently placed beneath his chin. Only now did he realize how much he wished he had leaned into those fingers; had pulled Cas closer to him and caught those full, perfect lips with his own. Because to him, Cas was strong and sturdy. He wanted to feel the hard lines of muscle against his own; breathe in that scent of coffee and Old Spice; let his skin be scraped raw by the stubble lining Cas’s face. He wanted to feel safe and calm for once, and he knew that Cas would give that to him. 

He wished he’d let him.

But he hadn’t. He’d caved in on himself and shut down.

Now, Dean felt like there was a hole in his chest. Like someone had dished out the contents of his stomach and filled it with lead.

Halfway to his apartment, he started shaking.

He remembered passing the newsstand that was a few blocks from his place. And then there was a loud clanging, and he was standing in his kitchen, hands plunged inside of too-hot dishwater. He blinked, looking around as anxiety spiked in his system.

Lola stood beside him, her nose pushing around the metal dog dish she had tipped over, chasing the kibble that was skittering across the tile floor. Had Dean fed her? He must have, because her other dish had fresh water. Looking around, he saw that the jacket Cas had let him borrow was hanging off a kitchen chair. The TV was on and muted. And the sink was filled with a few dirty dishes, while freshly cleaned ones sat drying on the rack. 

Discomfited, Dean took his hands from the water. The heat had turned his skin red, and steam rolled up into the air of the kitchen. He dried them and then took refuge on his couch, certain that a nap would re-charge his batteries and help him feel better.

Before he fell asleep, he registered the feeling of Lola crawling beneath the blankets at his feet.

 

xXx

 

When Dean jolted awake again, it was dark outside. The clock read 8:24.  

His heart was racing. He wasn’t even sure why. Everything just felt _wrong._

Manic, Dean started to pace. He began cleaning, sorting through some clothes and starting a cycle on the washer. He put his comforter back on his bed, even though he was certain he wouldn’t sleep there tonight.

But strangely, suddenly, he couldn’t imagine a time when he would ever sleep in that bed again. He couldn’t fathom his life continuing into next week or even the next hour; everything was spinning out of his control, and he couldn’t get a grip on it. He couldn’t get a grip on anything. He was either going completely crazy or he was dying, and quite frankly, he wasn’t sure which one he preferred.

His vintage military posters were still sitting on his kitchen counter, waiting for Dean to either repair them or throw them out. And Dean was suddenly so fed up with the fact that he had to make that decision.

He wasn’t sure why, but tearing them up seemed like a good course of action. So he grabbed the posters – graphics of Uncle Sam saying I WANT YOU, finely drawn soldiers holding flags billowing in the wind with U.S. MARINE CORPS typed beside – and he began to rip through them. He tore the posters in half and then in quarters, the harsh ripping sound soothing his nerves, if only a little.

Once he was done, his fingers still itched, and his pulse was racing. But the fog in his brain thinned somewhat, and he was able to feel that he was going off the deep end. He was wading out into dangerous waters, and he knew he couldn’t swim; he wouldn’t make it out this time.

Dean pulled his trembling fingers through his hair, trying to go through his options. He and Dr. Mosely had worked through coping mechanisms before, but he’d stopped seeing her years ago. He’d stopped needing her years ago. He couldn’t remember any of those coping mechanisms now; he doubted they would even work. 

He thought about calling his brother. But it was past eight o’clock on a Saturday night; he and Sarah were probably out, enjoying time together like couples do. Dean couldn’t ruin that.

He couldn’t call his mom. He wouldn’t let her see him like this.

That’s when he spotted the note still taped to his fridge door. He’d thought about taking it down about a hundred times, but when it came down to it, Dean liked how it looked up there. He liked the elegant scrawl of Cas’s name, how even his numbers were neat and proper looking.

After this morning, Dean figured he had nothing to lose. So he found his phone, and despite his shaking hands, managed to dial the number.

Cas picked up on the second ring.

“Hello?”

That rough voice shot through Dean’s body, a welcoming calm to his frayed nerves. He let out a short breath.

“Cas.” Dean choked out, then stopped. What did he say next? 

“Dean?” Cas’s voice hitched with surprise. “What’s going on?”

“I’m…” Dean pinched the bridge of his nose, taking another shaky breath. “I dunno, man, I just don’t feel so hot right now.”

“Where are you?” Cas asked, his voice low and urgent.

“I’m at home.”

“Are you all right?” 

“No. I don’t think so.” Dean looked up at his apartment, which he was suddenly certain was a prison, and that he could never leave – even if he wanted to. “I think I might do something. I don’t know. I just feel really bad right now.”

“Don’t move.” Cas said, and there was the sound of movement on his end. “I’ll be right there. Don’t do anything. All right?” 

Dean swallowed thickly. “Okay.”

 

xXx

 

For perhaps the first time, Castiel cursed the fact that he didn’t own a car. He wished he still had his Harley Sportster, which while ostentatious, _had_ been fun to ride – and it certainly would have come in handy now, because Cas knew it would have gotten him to Dean’s apartment building in about three minutes flat.

As it was, Cas didn’t have a bike. Or a car. And calling a cab would take longer than it was worth – Lawrence taxis were ridiculously slow, not like the taxis in New York or Chicago had been.

So Cas ran. His only blessing that night was that he was a good runner. He made it to Dean’s apartment in just under ten minutes, his breathing only labored from panic. He had hardly broken a sweat at all.

Thankfully, the door to Dean’s building worked on a code system instead of a key. Dean managed to text Cas the passcode, and then Cas was jogging up the stairs to the fourth floor.

He didn’t bother knocking, just pushed through the door and looked around wildly, terrified of what he might find. 

Dean was sitting cross-legged on the kitchen floor, his back against the cupboards. His face was buried in his hands. Lola was in his lap, her ears pinned back in distress. She looked at Cas, her blue eyes wide.

But Dean was in one piece, and breathing, so Castiel took that as a good sign. He closed the door gingerly and then knelt down in front of Dean, keeping his hands to himself.

“Dean?” He asked quietly. Dean peaked up at him, his green eyes red-rimmed and blown wide with panic. Cas offered a small, reassuring smile.

“Heya, Cas.” Dean rasped out. He sounded terrible.

“We gotta stop meeting like this.” Cas quipped, though his voice was strained and worried. “Why is it I’m always finding you crouched on the floor?”

“Floors are nice.” Dean mumbled. “Seem safer, somehow.”

Cas considered this, looking around at Dean’s kitchen floor. He spotted a mess of torn up papers. One piece had a third of an American flag printed on it. He looked back at Dean.

“Want to tell me what happened?” He asked softly. Dean hid his face again.

“Had a panic attack.”

“Okay. About what?”

Dean dropped his hands, laying them softly on Lola’s back. Her tail twitched feebly. “It was a bad day. I mean, besides this morning.” 

Dean offered a timid smile, and Cas couldn’t help the warmth that bloomed in his chest.

“Okay, so this morning was good. What changed?” Cas tilted his head at him. Dean avoided Castiel’s gaze. 

“I dunno. Guess I just wished I had stayed with you for a while longer.” Dean shrugged, playing with Lola’s tail. “But… I’ve had problems with this before.”

“Panic attacks?” Cas asked. Dean nodded.

“I got better for a while. I haven’t had to worry about this in years. Nothing lasts forever, I guess. I knew I’d get bad again, eventually.” Dean smiled wryly, none of it reaching his eyes. Cas frowned sadly.

“Have you told anyone else about this?” He asked. 

“Sam and Mom know, obviously.” Dean flicked a glance up Cas, but he wouldn’t hold his gaze for too long. “No one else. I mean, everyone suspects something’s wrong… Charlie, Benny… but they don’t really know anything. I don’t like to talk about it.”

“You’re talking with me.” Cas said simply, and Dean’s cheeks turned a little red.

“You’re different. I like talking with you. You don’t make me feel like I’m crazy.”

Cas sighed, settling down on the floor beside Dean. Their knees bumped together, but thankfully, Dean didn’t seem to mind.

“You’re not crazy, Dean. Why would you think that?” He asked quietly. Dean offered another shrug. 

“That’s what my old man used to tell me.”

Cas’s jaw flexed when he considered this. From what he’d heard so far, Dean’s father didn’t seem like a nice man. His eyes fell on the ripped up papers on the floor.

“Was that you? Or Lola?” 

Dean looked down at Lola. “It was me.” He admitted. “Thought it would make me feel better.”

“Did it?”

“Not really.”

Cas looked over at Dean. He still wasn’t really looking at Cas. Probably too embarrassed, Cas thought. 

“You seem a little better than how you sounded on the phone.” Cas offered. 

“I started to feel better once I knew you were coming.” Dean looked up at Cas now, his green eyes finally meeting his blue ones. Cas felt his muscles relax.

“I’m glad you called me.” Cas said, his brows knitting together as he considered the alternative. “How are you feeling?” 

Dean sighed, closing his eyes. “Tired. Which is weird, ‘cause I basically slept all day.”

“Panic attacks are exhausting.” Cas agreed. “It takes a toll on your mind and body.” 

Dean opened one eye and looked at him. “You ever have one?”

“No, but I know people. Now… do you think you could get up off the floor?”

Dean closed his eye again. “Do I have to?”

“Theoretically? No.” Cas said thoughtfully. “But… I’d like you to. This tile isn’t exactly comfortable. I imagine the couch would be better.”

Dean was quiet as he considered this. Then he muttered, “Alright.”

Smiling at his small victory, Cas got up. Dean lifted Lola off his lap, then allowed Castiel to pull him to his feet.

 

xXx

 

The few times when Sam had been around to witness one of Dean’s panic attacks, Dean had hated himself for it for days afterward. He never felt as vulnerable and childish and _stupid_ as when he did after an attack, and he hated being coddled. Dean would detest Sam’s insistence that he rest and eat something and try and _talk about what happened._ The aftermath of the attack was almost as traumatizing as the actual thing.

So Dean was surprised when having Cas around felt nothing like this. He helped him clean up the torn pieces of paper from the floor, and then he let Cas settle him onto the couch. The TV was still on, a sports channel going through the week’s highlights. Dean tucked his legs under him, aware that it made him look like a twelve-year-old but not caring.

“Dean, is it alright if I stay for a while?” Cas asked cautiously. “It seems like you’re doing better, but I wouldn’t mind being absolutely sure. If that’s alright with you.”

Dean felt himself soften. He almost wanted to reply _of course you can stay – I want you here, that’s why I called you, you idiot –_ but instead he nodded.

“Yeah, you can stay, Cas.”

Almost visibly relieved, Cas sat down on the couch beside Dean, though he stayed diligently on his own end. Dean thought back to that morning, to how he’d shied away from Castiel’s touch, and guilt swirled in his stomach.

“Dean,” Cas said, his voice cautious, “I know you said you don’t like to talk, but…”

Dean gave a sharp inhale. “I know.”

“It doesn’t have to be with me.” Cas said hurriedly. “But it should be with someone.”

Dean was quiet for a moment. “I like talking to you, Cas. And I want to talk to you, especially since you’ve saved my ass twice now. But just… not tonight, all right? I’m sort of ready for this day to be over.”

To Dean’s surprise, Castiel seemed satisfied with this answer. His eyes softened kindly. “Of course. I understand.”

Dean nodded, relief making him weak. “All right. Now… wanna watch TV?”

Luckily, one of the local channels was having a marathon of the third season of _Friday Night Lights._ It was one of Dean’s favorites, and the familiar characters and storyline soothed him. He happily explained the finer points of the story to Cas, who was adorably confused about it – especially the football parts, which was a game Cas had apparently never played in his life.

Cas talked him into ordering food. Looking back, Dean realized he hadn’t eaten anything since the night before. He knew he didn’t look particularly well-fed, either, but hey – he was working on it.

They got Chinese food. It tasted better than Dean was expecting.

Cas played tug-of-war with Lola until she was tuckered out. Sometime past eleven, Dean and Cas both sank lower onto the couch, their legs tentatively bumping and tangling together as sleep tugged at them.

Cas didn’t mention anything about going back home. Dean didn’t bring it up, either.

Sometime after episode five, Dean fell asleep. He remembered feeling his head sink deeper and deeper onto the cushion of the couch’s arm, his neck starting to ache, but he was too tired to care. Lola was asleep on the floor beside him. His legs were pressed against Cas’s, the warmth reaching out from beneath their clothes, pulsing into each other.

As Dean fell asleep, he knew he wouldn’t have nightmares.

A few hours later, the sensation of movement and stirring instantly jolted him awake. Dean was rarely a deep sleeper. Snapping his eyes open, he became aware of his darkened living room; darker than when he’d fallen asleep. Someone had turned the TV off.

Fear made his blood cold. His eyes were too slow in adjusting to the light, and he pushed himself up on his elbows, looking around wildly. 

Cas was just above him, in the middle of draping a blanket across Dean’s sleeping figure. Another spasm of fear pierced through him when he considered the possibility that Cas was about to leave – that Dean would have woken up and found himself alone.

Cas had realized Dean was awake, and he looked like he was about to say something. But he didn’t. Even in the dim light, Dean could see the intensity in those blue eyes, and Dean just looked back. Everything was quiet, save for the sound of Dean’s breath, labored a little after being startled awake.

And then Dean reached forward, fitting his hand firmly around the back of Cas’s neck, and pulled his mouth down to his. Cas gave a surprised intake of breath.

Dean’s entire body hummed at the feeling of Cas’s mouth melding with his. He sighed, letting his hand slide up and run through Cas’s hair. Cas’s lips parted, tongue tracing lightly across Dean’s bottom lip and Dean let him in, shivering lightly when Cas’s tongue licked up the roof of his mouth.

Shifting, Dean sat up and Cas sat back down on the couch. Dean’s mind was reeling, still hazy from sleep and the emotion of the day before. Cas’s kiss was searching, his hands sliding up Dean’s chest and to his neck. Dean preened under the touch.

It had been too long since Dean had kissed someone like this – slow and lazy and hot, tongues and teeth scraping, breath pulsing into each other’s mouths. There was no thought of a greater endgame; no sense of urgency. They just kissed to feel and taste one another, the dark living room and late hour making them feel safe and hidden; the world hushed around them.

Dean’s hands slid down Cas’s chest, feeling the hard muscle beneath his palms, and Cas cradled Dean’s face. Dean sighed, his sore body relaxing.

After a while, his legs started to fall asleep, so Dean laid back and pulled Cas with him. The couch wasn’t all that big but Cas’s body fit next to Dean’s perfectly, their legs sliding together, comforting despite the jeans they hadn’t taken off. They lied facing each other on the couch, lips never parting. 

Suddenly, Dean was afraid Cas would take this as permission to do more – Dean wondered if he should let him – but Cas’s hands never strayed from Dean’s face. His thumb stroked a comforting rhythm across his cheek, and Dean let his own hands rest lightly against Cas’s stomach, feeling him breathe.

There was no sense of _more_ to their movements. Instead, everything felt like _this_ – the soft press of lips, the lingering touches, the breathy sighs as they relaxed into each other. It was easy and comfortable and so, _so_ good.

Once their hearts began to slow, they pulled away from each other. Cas’s breath played softly across Dean’s lips, and he opened his eyes, finding Dean’s green ones immediately. 

For a few moments, they just caught their breath, and then Cas rested his forehead against Dean’s. Dean leaned into him, his heart thrumming with happiness. Even after the heat in their stomachs had cooled, they didn’t move. Their bodies were too comfortable pressed against one another; chests rising and falling steadily, arms and legs tangled.

The last thing Dean remembered was Cas’s arm draping loosely across his hip. And then he let sleep take him.


	12. The Other Shoe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for all the lovely comments!! I'm having lots of fun writing this so I'm so happy you're liking reading it :)

Castiel woke up at dawn. On any other morning, this would be reason enough for grumpiness of epic proportions. Sleeping in was vital for his emotional well-being. 

That morning, however, the first thing he was aware of – instead of the ungodly hour – was his arm wrapped firmly around another body. Opening his eyes, he saw Dean was still mere inches from him. His lips were pink and kiss-bruised, his forehead smoothed out with sleep. It was as calm and blissful as Cas had ever seen him.

Slowly, warmth spread itself into every inch of Castiel’s body. He was aware of his shins pressing against Dean’s; their chests rising and falling softly; the way Dean’s breath would pass gently across his own lips. Everything was quiet and warm, and Cas let a smile tug at the corners of his mouth.

Then, Lola stirred on the ground beside Dean, and a low whine sounded through the morning quiet. Moving as little as he could, Cas very, _very_ reluctantly pushed himself up from between the back of the couch and Dean’s sleeping body. Seeing he was awake, Lola’s tail began to slap the ground happily.

Quietly, Castiel rummaged around Dean’s kitchen until he found Lola’s food. He filled up her dishes, watching with a strange sort of satisfaction when the dog devoured the kibble greedily. Then he leaned against the counter, scratching his fingers through his hair (he was certain he had a bad case of bed-head) while he debated what to do next.

His mind immediately went to those feverish kisses from last night. No, that couldn’t even be qualified as just kissing –it was tasting and melting and breathing into each other. It made Castiel’s stomach curl with warmth and a blush rise to his face when he thought about it. But it had been in the middle of the night, and everything seemed different in the fogginess of sleep and darkness. If Dean’s reaction to him yesterday morning had been any indication, he wasn’t up for being close to Castiel – either he wasn’t ready, or he flat out didn’t want to.

Dean had been vulnerable last night. Castiel wasn’t going to hold him to anything.

But he wasn’t going to leave, either. So he pushed away from the counter and began to search through the cupboards, crossing his fingers that he would be able to make Dean breakfast without ruining it.

 

xXx

 

Dean woke up when he realized he was cold. He usually didn’t sleep without the reassuring protection of his comforter, so the empty space above and around him was cavernous and left him feeling exposed.

It wasn’t just the blanket, though. Dean remembered the comforting weight of Cas’s body pressed up against his, and he inhaled sharply, snapping to full consciousness when he realized it wasn’t there anymore.

Pale morning light drifted through the living room window, and he could hear the sound of someone moving around in the kitchen. The smell of slightly burnt toast reached his nostrils.

Was Cas making him breakfast?

Groaning a little, Dean sat up, setting his feet on the floor. He ran his hands through his hair slowly, feeling the ends sticking up at odd angles. As he did, the memories from last night floated back to him. He remembered the sharp panic at the thought of Cas leaving; how he just _needed_ Cas, pressed close and breathing into him. Dean hadn’t known how to tell him he wanted him to stay. Showing seemed easier.

As it turned out, showing had ended up being really, really good.  

Dean thought of Cas’s hot mouth, how his hands had felt holding his face, gently – as if Dean might break. His knees went weak when he thought about it.

Suddenly, Castiel walked in from the kitchen, his sleep-lined face and early morning sex-hair not doing anything good for Dean’s current state of mind. Dean shifted awkwardly, clearing his throat a little.

Castiel was holding a plate stacked with toast in one hand, and gripping two cups of coffee with the other. Lola followed closely at his heels.

“I attempted making you breakfast.” He said, his voice even huskier and sexier in the early morning hours. “But you didn’t have much to work with in your kitchen. Maybe it’s for the best. I’m a terrible cook.”

Dean smiled, averting his eyes as he watched Cas set the plate and mugs down on the coffee table and sit down on the couch again. The pieces of toast seemed to alternate between peanut butter and jam, and Dean’s mug held coffee mixed with cream and sugar. Cas’s was black.

“Thanks, Cas.” Dean said. He reached forward and took a piece of toast with peanut butter, his stomach rumbling greedily. God, was he always this hungry in the morning? “You didn’t have to do this.”

“I wanted to.” Cas replied, obvious affection coloring his tone. Dean didn’t mind it. Cas took a few sips of coffee, idly scratching Lola’s fur as Dean ate.

“And last night…” Cas said after a while, his voice cautious, “Was that because you wanted to?”

Dean snuck a glance at Cas. “Yeah, I wanted to. I wouldn’t have done it otherwise.” 

Cas nodded, staring down into his coffee. Dean frowned at him.

“You think I might not have wanted to?”

Cas looked up at him, his face contemplative. “I just wasn’t sure. Yesterday morning… I thought you were saying you didn’t think of me that way.”

Dean sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “I think of you that way.”

Cas tilted his head at him. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“It’s not,” Dean said hurriedly, “It’s not. I like you, Cas. I like hanging out with you. It’s just… taking me a while to wrap my head around it. That’s all.”

Cas’s eyes softened. “That’s okay. I like hanging out with you, too.”

Dean smiled timidly, and he felt his body relax. Hanging out didn’t seem nearly as scary as words like _relationship_ or _hook up_ or even _fuck buddies._ It was simple. Harmless, even.

They were just hanging out.

Cas leaned forward, reaching one hand out to balance on the couch, and pressed a soft, chaste kiss to Dean’s lips. Dean timidly leaned into him. He tasted like fresh coffee and butter, and it was surprisingly enticing.

After Cas pulled away, Dean just watched him for a while. He watched how he ran his hand through that dark thatch of messed hair, how his fingers absently trailed over Lola’s back, how his blue eyes would cast sidelong glances at Dean when he thought he wasn’t looking. Dean wondered how it was he’d managed to get someone like Cas in his life, but he decided that maybe he shouldn’t question it.

And then before he knew what was happening, he was saying,

“I think one of my students is in trouble.” 

Cas froze, his eyes searching Dean’s face for a moment. Dean just looked back while his heart hammered away in his chest. God, he’d been holding this in for what felt like ages, but now it was like the floodgates were rattling loose; unable to stand up to the pressure anymore.

Castiel’s eyebrows knitted together, and a strange look of understanding dawned on his face. As if he realized that _this_ is what’s been fucking with Dean; that this was information he wasn’t going to offer up to just anybody.

“Okay.” Cas said, his voice a forced level of calm, “What makes you think that?”

Dean scraped a hand across his mouth, his stomach twisting with nausea. He was starting to regret that piece of toast. He couldn’t look at Cas when he answered,

“I saw bruises. On his arm. They were in the shape of hands.”

Dean’s own hand had subconsciously reached down to rub his arm. Cas registered the movement.

“Did you talk to him?” Cas asked. Dean tried – and failed – not to feel guilty when he shook his head.

“I couldn’t.” His green eyes pleaded with Cas. “I couldn’t just ask him about it. He would never have talked to me – it would have made it worse. Trust me.”

“Okay.” Cas nodded, his voice soothing. “I believe you. It’s alright.”

Dean took a breath.

“Did you tell anyone?” Cas asked.

“I sort of asked Ava Wilson about it. The guidance counselor?” Dean peaked up at Cas, and the man nodded. “But I made it all seem hypothetical. She didn’t buy it, but… I didn’t mention any names.”

Cas looked at Dean intently, quiet for a moment as he thought. Dean shifted uneasily. 

“Dean,” Cas said cautiously, “Let’s just say… let’s say you told Ava the truth. What’s the worst that could happen?”

Fear and frustration shot through Dean’s system. “What could happen? I’ll tell you – me ratting on this kid could, at the very least, get a few concerned teachers involved. They would call his house, his son of a bitch old man would pretend to be Daddy Dearest, and then the second he hands up…

Dean broke off, squeezing his eyes shut.

“At worst,” He went on, “It could get the authorities involved. And Child Protective Services would take the kid from his home and throw him into foster care, with a family full of other foster kids and people who don’t give a rat’s ass about him.”

Dean looked up at Cas, who was watching him with a sad, concerned expression.

“Dean, I’m sure you’re just overreacting-”

“But I’m _not,_ Cas!” Dean snapped. “What, you think I’m pulling this information out of my ass?”

Cas snapped his mouth shut, his blue eyes turning hard as he looked at Dean. Dean pushed off the couch.

“Has this happened with a student of yours before?”

“No.” Dean’s tone made the word biting and cold. He didn’t look at Cas, just began to pace, his hands running through his hair and linking behind his neck.

After a moment, Cas stood up, manually stopping Dean in his pacing. Dean huffed a breath, letting Cas un-pry his fingers and put his hands back down at his sides. Then he looked at Dean.

“I understand that this is hard.” He said. “But keeping this to yourself is obviously very harmful to you – not to mention that _not_ reporting this is illegal. If nothing else, you need to talk to him, Dean.”

Dean’s jaw flexed and he shook his head.

“I have a feeling that, if it’s you,” Cas pressed on, “He won’t mind. He’ll talk to you. And then you can figure it out from there.”

Dean tried to get his breathing back under control. “What if you’re wrong?”

Now, Cas let a small, cocky smile play at his lips. “I rarely am.”

Dean huffed a short laugh and rolled his eyes. Cas reached out, letting his hands rest tentatively on Dean’s hips. The touch was still new and unfamiliar, but Dean leaned into it gratefully. He rested his forehead against Cas’s, the small contact grounding.

“Is this what’s been bothering you?” Cas asked. Dean swallowed and nodded.

“Mostly. The day I saw his bruises I just… freaked out. Brought back too many bad memories I usually don’t think about.”

Cas’s arms tensed, and Dean instantly went cold – as if someone had dumped a bucket of ice water on him. He knew he’d revealed way, way too much, and it was too late to take it back.

He cleared his throat and pulled away from Cas, not daring to look at him.

“I gotta take the mutt for a walk, or she’s gunna tear up this place.” Dean nearly cringed at the forced calm in his own voice. “We can walk you back to your motel, if you want.”

Castiel nodding, recognizing this dismissal for what it was. “Sure. That would be great.”

 

xXx

 

Letting out a little breath, Dean put the nearly finished stub of chalk back on his desk and wiped his hands. His eyes swept over the words scrawled untidily across the blackboard.

“So these are your options.” He said over his shoulder. “Each of you is to pick one of these main characters, and follow them to the end of the book. Your final essay will be about your character’s arc throughout the story.”

Dean turned around. Krissy Chambers’ hand was in the air.

“Krissy?”

“Why isn’t Two-Bit on the list? He’s a main character.”

“Yeah, but he doesn’t have a character arc.”

“That’s debatable.”

“This isn’t a debate class, Chambers.” Dean dragged his fingers through his hair. “It’s English class. Now, use these last five minutes to pick which character you’d like. Then before you leave write them down with your name on this piece of paper.” Dean tapped the clipboard on his desk. “No switching halfway through the book – you made your choice, so you have to commit to it.”

Dean sat down behind his desk, and his class bubbled up into a steady stream of conversation. Satisfaction rumbled through his chest. Usually, he taught this book like he taught every other one: chapter reviews, thematic questions, character profiles. But this time, he decided to switch it up. So far it seemed to be working.

Suddenly, his cell phone jumped to life on his desk. The screen lit up with a picture of Mary, and the words  _Incoming Call From: Mom_ headed the screen. His stomach turned uncomfortably, and he quickly tapped the “ignore” button, reasoning that he shouldn’t take calls during class.

He wasn’t mad at his mom anymore. He’d stopped being mad at her a while ago. Now, he was just mad at himself; ashamed of what he’d said, and he didn’t want to answer the phone because he knew Mary would try and apologize, and Dean was certain he didn’t deserve that. 

Students began to line up at his desk, scratching their names with their chosen character beside. Glancing down, Dean saw that Dallas Winston was obviously the favourite. He tried not to roll his eyes.

When Michael came up, Dean watched out of the corner of his eye as he scrawled the name “Johnny Cade” beside his own. Dean looked up at him.

“Good choice.”

Michael blushed a little. “Thanks.”

Dean glanced around quickly. The kids in the front row were talking with each other, hardly paying attention to the kid at Dean’s desk. He lowered his voice a little.

“I’d like you to stick around for a few minutes after class.”

Michael frowned. “Am I in trouble?”

“No, no.” Dean shook his head. “Nothing like that. I just want to talk to you. Alright?”

Michael searched Dean’s face for a moment, distrust written in every line of his young face. But he still nodded.

“Alright.”

When the bell rang, a few of the kids looked at Michael in confusion when he stayed seated at his desk. But all they did was mutter a bit to one another, before continuing on their way out into the hall.

Once his classroom was empty, Dean walked over and shut the door. He felt Michael’s eyes on him the entire time.

Taking a steadying breath, Dean walked over and sat at the desk beside Michael. He crossed his arms over the desktop and tried to steady the way his stomach was turning, curling in on itself with nerves and nausea. Michael was staring at his hands now, his face blank, but Dean could practically feel the stress coming off of him.

“Relax. You’re not in trouble.” Dean reiterated, his voice sounding a hell of a lot calmer than he felt. Michael just nodded, but didn’t look over at him.

“Michael, I’ve been teaching you for a while now.” Dean said, his voice still miraculously gentle. “You’re a good kid. You get good grades, and you keep out of trouble. But to be honest, I’m a little worried about you.”

Michael swallowed and finally met Dean’s gaze. He didn’t look surprised. Just scared. “Why?”

Dean clenched his hands into fists, and then unclenched them again, in an effort to get them to stop shaking. “You just don’t seem like yourself. You fall asleep during class; you always look tired, or distracted. Your grades aren’t bad, but they’re not what you’re capable of.”

Michael began to fidget, pulling at the sleeves of his shirt and bunching the fabric in his hands. Dean went on.

“I just want to make sure everything’s all right. If something’s bothering you; at school, at home…” He trailed off, giving Michael the opportunity to speak up. The kid just shrugged stiffly.

“Nothing’s bothering me. Everything’s fine.” His voice broke on the last word, giving him away. But he didn’t say anything else.

Dean took a breath, “Michael, you can talk to people. Miss Wilson is a great guidance counselor; I know lots of the other kids like her. But if you’d prefer things off the record… my door’s always open.”

Michael gave a few short nods. Then he looked over at Dean. “Is that it?”

Dean sighed, searching Michael’s face before nodding. “That’s it. If you’re late, tell Mrs. Blake to talk to me.”

Michael gave another short nod, before rising from his desk and basically bolting for the door. Once he wrenched it open and closed it behind him, Dean let out a gust of air.

_Well… that went well._

xXx

 

Dean was halfway through his third period lecture when he got the text from Charlie:

_U. Me. Lunch. We need to talk._

His stomach turned uneasily, but despite his reluctance he found himself following Charlie through a maze of people at Marie’s Café, toward a back table that was miraculously unoccupied. Charlie took her time draping her jacket across the back of the chair before sitting down, prying the lid off her ridiculously priced pumpkin latte, and then slowly unwrapping an enormous bagel before Dean finally snapped.

“What is it, Charlie?” He demanded, his own coffee and sandwich sitting neglected. “You wanted to talk to me about something. Spit it out.” 

“Jeez, _calm down._ Can I at least take a bite of my bagel first? I haven’t eaten since breakfast.”

“Fine, you freaking Hobbit.” Dean scowled at her. “Who even calls a latte and a bagel _lunch_?”

Charlie threw him a glance. “Um, lots of people? I can’t help it. As soon as the leaves turn, I require something pumpkin spiced daily. Otherwise I might die.”

Charlie took a large bite of her bagel, and Dean rubbed his temples delicately. Sometimes, dealing with Charlie was worse than dealing with his students.

“Charlie…”

“I’ll talk,” Charlie said, her voice muffled around her food, “As soon as you start eating.”

Dean rolled his eyes and groaned. _“Fine.”_

He pointedly picked up his sandwich and began unwrapping it. He couldn’t really remember what he ordered, but upon closer inspection he decided it looked like a turkey club sort of deal. He took a bite, chewing purposefully as he looked at Charlie with raised eyebrows. It tasted like cardboard in his mouth.

“Satisfied?” He asked after swallowing. Charlie narrowed her eyes at him. 

“Momentarily.” She replied, but she still put her bagel down and brushed the crumbs from her fingers.

“Good. So shoot.” Dean prompted. Charlie regarded him for a second, before crossing her arms. Her face was somber.

“I found something. About Castiel.” She said. Dean went cold.

“Okay. And?”

Charlie licked her lips. “Well, I figured he _had_ to be using a fake name. What the hell kind of name is Castiel? So I started fishing around the government database for requested name changes.”

“And he changed his name?”

“No. Well, yeah – but not how I thought.” Charlie leaned forward more, and Dean mimicked the movement, pushing his sandwich aside. His stomach felt like it was full of worms. “I couldn’t find anyone who changed their name _to_ Castiel. Because he didn’t change his first name - only his last one.”

Dean’s eyebrows shot up, and Charlie took it as a queue to go on.

“Castiel Milton. Born December 24, 1980 in Chicago, Illinois.” Charlie said this gravely, as if revealing a very grand secret. To Dean’s ears, though, it fell a little flat.

“So, what? He’s in witness protection or something?” He frowned. Charlie’s eyes widened.

“Seriously? That name’s not ringing a bell?” She asked. Dean just looked at her mutely, before shaking his head. She rolled her eyes in exasperation. “ _Milton,_ Dean. His parents are Naomi and Virgil Milton? They’re one of the biggest crime families in Chicago.”

Dean just blinked as this information buzzed in the air around them.

“I got his birth certificate, criminal record, school transcripts – everything up until he’s about 23. Then Castiel Milton disappears, and Castiel Novak pops into existence.”

Dean shook his head. “But that doesn’t make any sense. If he’s gunna change his name, why not the whole thing? He’s not exactly hiding from anybody with a name like Castiel.”

Dean tried to ignore how the name felt like honey on his tongue.

“Exactly.” Charlie agreed. “Which is why the only thing we can assume is that he’s not hiding.”

Dean was still frowning. “What else did you find out?”

“Besides that, not much.” Charlie shrugged. “I mean, apparently he got into some fights in high school. Criminal record shows breaking and entering, accessory, conspiracy. Pretty standard stuff for someone in a crime family.”

Dean cocked an eyebrow at her. “Oh really, Corleone?” 

Charlie rolled her eyes at him. “Shut up.”

“But are we sure this is the same Castiel? I mean, we’ve got a pretty good feel for the guy. Does he seem like a felon to you?”

“No, but that’s just it – he’s not a felon _now,_ but that doesn’t mean he never was.”  Charlie pointed out.

Dean pursed his lips, but it felt like a stone had dropped into his stomach. Sure – the thought of Cas getting manhandled on the hood of a cop car; Cas pushing a magazine into the handle of a gun – had lust twitching through Dean’s groin, but he still couldn’t buy it. It seemed like fantasy more than reality.

“I saw the ID photos.” Charlie’s voice was hard and somber. “Even at sixteen. Hair and eyes like that? It was him.”

Dean’s jaw tensed, and he reached a thumb up to swipe it across his lips. “Why are you only telling _me_ this?”

Now, Charlie tilted her head and threw him a disparaging look. “Come on. Seriously?”

Dean just narrowed his eyes at her. “What?”

“Dean, I’ve seen the way you guys look at each other. And when he walked into the teacher’s lounge this morning, you blushed so hard I thought you were gunna give yourself a fever. Honestly, you’d think something happened between you two.”

Dean had been taking a sip of his neglected coffee, but now he sputtered, the drink getting caught in his throat. He coughed into his sleeve.

“Oh my god.” Charlie’s mouth dropped open. “Something happened, didn’t it?”

“No.” Dean insisted. “Nothing happened.” It was the _truth,_ he told himself firmly. Nothing had happened. Castiel had just been helping Dean out; offering very manly bro-company after a panic attack by sleeping on his couch… and then they had a very manly midnight make out session.

See? Nothing.

“Bullshit.” Charlie retorted and Dean grimaced. “Spill.”

“Nothing happened. We just hung out Saturday; watched TV and ordered food. I was having a shitty night, and he helped me out. Kept me company.”

“How come your face is so red?”

“It’s not red. _Your_ face is red-”

“Oh my _God_ , Dean, just tell me-“

“And then we may have made out on my couch, _okay?_ _Happy?”_ Dean spit out, before casting a swift glance around the coffee shop. The young woman sitting a table away was glancing at him in amusement. He glared at her then turned back to Charlie.

“You tell no one.”

Charlie pressed her lips together, though she was holding back laughter as she mimed zipping her lips. Then she asked, “But why? Your family knows you’re bi. And the school obviously wouldn’t care, since they keep _my_ gay ass around.”

“I know. That’s not… it’s not that.”

“I know, _I know._ You’re Dean Winchester and you Don’t Do Relationships.” Charlie said. “But can I just say that I called this?”

“You did not.”

“I did. I said that you guys had natural chemistry.” Charlie insisted smugly. “I had a bet going with Benny. He said you guys wouldn’t hook up until Christmas, at least.”

“Has that much faith in me, does he?” Dean covered up his embarrassment with the snarky comment.

“Well, come on, Dean – it took you a solid year before you admitted you had a crush on _Benny_. And that was a pretty harmless crush.”

Dean felt warmth creep up his cheeks. “Why can’t this be harmless?” He asked, looking down as he traced the edge of the table with his hand.

“Does it feel harmless?” Charlie asked quietly. Dean reluctantly shook his head.

They were quiet for a few minutes, Dean picking at his sandwich and Charlie sipping contemplatively on her latte.

“Even though I totally saw this coming,” She said after a moment, “I don’t know if it’s a good idea.”

“If what’s a good idea?”

“You and Cas.”

“There is no _me and Cas.”_ Dean growled. “But why wouldn’t it be a good idea?”

“Because he’s a felon!” Charlie’s eyes went wide. “Obviously he’s cleaned up, but… I don’t know if you can ever really walk away from that life. And you don’t need the drama, Dean.”

Dean narrowed his eyes at her. “Getting overprotective on me, Bradbury?”

“I’m always overprotective. You just usually don’t notice it.” Charlie replied, and Dean blinked as he considered this. Charlie went on. “Doesn’t this bother you at all?”

“What? That the guy has a record?”

Charlie nodded. Dean thought for a moment.

“Not really.” He shrugged. “It makes sense, actually. I was waiting for the other shoe to drop. And I really can’t blame him – it’s not like _my_ past is squeaky clean. And I was waiting for a sign that this was a bad idea. So I guess I got one.”


	13. Lawrence's Friday Night Lights

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I got a question about Dean and Cas's ages: in this fic, I have Cas born in December of 1980 and Dean in January of 1986, so Cas is a bit older than him. I thought I'd play with a bit of an age difference, and I love mid-30s Cas :) 
> 
> This is a long chapter, but I didn't feel like splitting it up into two. If anyone is interested, the song for the last scene in this chapter is "The Prairie Song" by Gene Loves Jezebel.
> 
> Thanks for the encouragement, you guys are awesome!

Once upon a time, Castiel’s mother had told him that his patience was a virtue. His brothers, though, misread his patience as _reluctance_ and _cowardice,_ and Castiel spent most of his childhood worrying because he wasn’t as hotheaded and intimidating as they were. He was certain something was horribly wrong with him.

It took him a long time to finally agree with his mother. Patience was a virtue.

He was certainly reminded of that fact as he shuffled through the assignments his sophomore class had just handed in. The assignment had been to write a typical Shakespearean sonnet, and he had spent at least a week going through the rhyme scheme and reading through examples. But just by skimming through the papers, he could already see the blatant mistakes – rhyming couplets in the wrong places, and lines that didn’t rhyme at all. Some had ten or twelve lines instead of fourteen. One page had nothing but lyrics to what Cas was sure was a Frank Ocean song, and one student had handed in nothing but a rather raunchy limerick.

Sighing, Cas dropped the pages and squeezed his eyes shut. He took off his reading glasses and set them on his desk, before pinching the bridge of his nose. His head was throbbing.

There were fifteen minutes until his next class, so Cas figured that was enough time to walk to the teacher’s lounge and hunt around for an Aspirin. Before he could push away from his desk, though, Dean came through the classroom door, before closing it and leaning against the dark wood surface. He crossed his arms, regarding Cas with a cool and closed expression.

“We need to talk.” He said, his voice frustrated and strained.

Cas blinked. “Okay?”

“Look, I’m not denying that I started that shit on Saturday night. But… it can’t go any farther.”

Hurt and surprise passed over Cas’s face. He didn’t even try to hide it. “Can I ask… why?”

Dean’s jaw flexed, but he didn’t answer. Cas stood up from his desk slowly, his heart beginning to hammer in his chest. “Because correct me if I’m wrong, but I got the vibe that you actually do _want_ this.”

Dean swallowed. “That’s not the point.”

“Then what is?” Castiel’s brow furrowed in anger as he stepped toward Dean. Dean’s muscles immediately tensed up, and he pulled his arms tighter around himself. Cas stopped.

“You don’t want me, Cas.” He bit out. “I’m not good. You shouldn’t have to spend your time talking people down from panic attacks or making sure they take their meds. I can’t even take care of a dog, let alone myself. Who wants that?”

Cas’s frown deepened, and he opened his mouth to argue, but Dean cut him off.

“Besides, I’m not the only one with skeletons in my closet. Right, Mr. Milton?”

Cas felt his heart drop to his feet, and he immediately paled. He closed his mouth as Dean’s words hung in the air around them.

“How did you find out?” Cas asked, his rough voice stretched thin. Dean scoffed a little as disappointment passed over his features – as if he’d still been hoping it wasn’t true.

“I got connections. Having computer nerds as friends pays off, y’know?” Dean joked humorlessly. Cas passed a hand over his face. “So tell me, Cas – what’s it like growing up on the Sopranos?”

“Don’t.” Cas nearly growled at him, stepping closer. “Don’t pretend to know anything about my life, just because you had _Charlie_ hack into some government databases.”

“But that’s my point.” Dean argued, “We don’t know anything about each other.”

“Dean,” Cas shook his head a little at him, his heart feeling like it was failing, “This – it doesn’t have to be this hard. I don’t want to up-end your life. I just… I _want_ to know you. And you can know me, too. I’m not… I’m not hiding. I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”

“No. I’m sorry, Cas. It’s better this way. And me? You don’t wanna know me. So let’s just… drop it.” Dean turned the handle of the door and pulled it open, and Cas watched in numb silence as he disappeared out into the hall.

 

xXx

 

Ever since his last name had made the smooth transition from _Milton_ to _Novak,_ Castiel had lived with the phantom sensation of always running away. Even though there was nobody chasing him; even though he wasn’t running _to_ anything or anyone. There was just this distinct feeling of impermanence, and it seeped under his skin and made his bones brittle.

When he’d left Chicago for school, his father had promised to turn the other cheek. He’d pretend Castiel had been nothing but a minor wrinkle in his otherwise well-formed plans, so long as Castiel was truly gone and stayed gone. He was, for all intents and purposes, dead.

If he returned or was accidentally found, that deal was off. It was never specified what the ramifications of that would be, but Castiel could imagine well enough. So he moved steadily from town to city to suburbs, never staying for longer than a few months and never committing to anything bigger than a month-to-month rented apartment.

Castiel wasn’t the type of person made for a life on the road. He was made for late Sunday sleep-ins and sturdy bookshelves where his favourite stories could live; he wanted cupboards filled with artsy coffee mugs and the option to paint the walls if he didn’t like their color.

He always entertained these notions with the thought of _someday._ Someday he’d have an address that he could use for a newspaper subscription. Someday he would complain about having to shovel the walk after it snowed again. Someday he’d have a home.

He figured, after being “on the run” for ten years, it was probably safe to settle down. And Cas was certain that that intuition had been proved right, the second he laid eyes on Dean Winchester in the teacher’s lounge on that first day. Because when he shook his hand, there was a humming in his bones that felt like waking up. Because Dean’s eyes were green like summer, and Castiel had been cold for years.

 _Someday_ suddenly felt like _now._

Dean was, by some divine intervention, why Castiel had ended up in Lawrence. So after he had walked out of Castiel’s classroom, insisting things had to stop, everything in Castiel’s impermanent world felt off-balance and _wrong._ It’s not like he could argue with Dean’s reasoning – Castiel did have a shady past, and Dean obviously had some personal issues. But the thought that they were better off… _apart?_ Unthinkable. Castiel refused to believe it.

He just had to convince Dean not to believe it, either.

 

xXx

 

Miraculously, Dean’s apartment received an almost violent cleaning. His argument with Cas had sent a strange sort of adrenaline pumping through his system, and he knew that when it left, he would inevitably crash. So he cleaned. 

He told himself stopping things with Cas was the right thing. Cas was, essentially, a runaway mobster. And Dean was a fuck-up with Post Traumatic Stress and clinical depression, and the reluctance to receive help for either. Getting the two of them together would certainly be like adding gasoline to a fire.

Keeping things platonic and PG _had_ to be the right decision. So why didn’t Dean feel better? Why did he feel like his chest was caving in?

To work through his fear and frustration, he began to clean. Clothes started swirling around in the washer, old papers were gathered and thrown into the recycling, dust was swept off the floor. Lola bounced at his heels excitedly, unused to so much activity in the usually dim and quiet apartment.

Afterward, Dean knew he should be proud. But while his apartment looked cleaner than it had in months, he didn’t feel any better.

He’d meant what he’d said to Cas. But he wished the guy hadn’t accepted it so easily.

He sort of wished Cas had fought for him.

 

xXx

 

 

The next night, Dean found himself faced with a late staff meeting. The meetings used to take place during lunch hours or right after school, but Principal Tran had gotten fed up when misbehaving students and after-school activities kept demanding the teachers’ attention. So now, the monthly meeting took place on a weeknight at seven o’clock – too long of a break for Dean to stay at the school, and too short for him to truly get comfortable at home. He’d just had time to choke down a measly dinner, take Lola for a walk and change his clothes, before walking back out the door.

It was dark by the time Dean parked the Impala in the teacher’s lot and walked back into the school. Everything felt weird without the kids there. It was too quiet and clean, and Dean found himself shooting glances down the hall suspiciously as he made his way to the teacher’s lounge, pulling at his jacket and t-shirt self-consciously. The lack of students was strange, but the lack of his usual constricting suits was downright bizarre. He felt naked, somehow.

By the time Dean stepped into the teacher’s lounge, he realized he was a little early. The only other teachers there were the girls’ P.E. teacher and Ava Wilson. Dean avoided her gaze.

The usually separate tables of the lounge were pushed together, and Principal Tran stood at the head of them, sorting through a stack of papers. She pulled out one and glanced up at Dean.

“Oh, hello, Dean – could you do me a favor?” She asked distractedly, and Dean barely had time to nod before she was passing him the paper, “Make about two dozen copies of this for me, please. I forgot on my way in, and I just can’t right now.”

Dean smiled thinly as he took the paper. Usually, Linda Tran’s brusque manner sort of stressed him out, but he was happy for the excuse not to sit and make small talk with Ava.

“Sure thing.”

The copy room was down the hall, a little ways from the lounge and near the front doors. Dean didn’t bother flicking on the light, just navigated by the glow of the copier’s screen as he put the paper in the slot and punched in the number “24”. As the copier whirred to life, he leaned back against it and pinched the bridge of his nose.

Staff meetings had been a barely tolerated evil before. But now, that table of teachers would include Cas, and that would cross the line into _torture_ category. He was nowhere near prepared for it.

Suddenly, there was the low sound of someone clearing their throat, and Dean looked up.

Castiel was leaning against the doorjamb of the copy room, regarding Dean with a somewhat cool expression. He looked ridiculously normal in a pair of jeans and a baseball-style shirt – black sleeves and a grey front – and his hair looked a little damp, as if he’d just showered. Dean almost hated himself for the involuntary twitch in his groin.

“Hey, Cas.” Dean managed to rasp out.

“Is this going to be awkward?” Cas asked point-blank, his blue eyes squinting. Dean blinked.

“What?”

“This meeting.” Cas raised his eyebrows. “I’ve never been to one at this school before. And I’ve never had to sit through a meeting knowing I’d spent any amount of time with my tongue down the throat of another person at the table.”

Fire curled in Dean’s stomach, but he glared at Cas. Somehow, he knew the guy was just trying to get a rise out of him.

“Call it a learning experience.” He retorted. Cas looked at him for a second, before his cold expression started to fall.

“I don’t want things to be awkward with us, Dean. Can’t we… at least be friends?”

Cas looked so damn hopeful then, but Dean went cold. He hated the word _friends,_ at least when it came to Cas; because right away, he knew it was bullshit. Friends meant pining and jealousy and constantly having this painful itch you could never scratch; a hollow stomach you could never fill.

“I can’t be just friends with you, Cas.” Dean said quietly. Cas’s jaw flexed; he stepped toward Dean, getting into his space.

“And why not?” He demanded quietly, and Dean’s knees went weak but he didn’t answer. He just looked down, focusing on the charcoal-grey of Cas’s shirt.

“Because I can’t.” He managed, Cas’s proximity making him breathless and stupid. “I can’t look at you without wanting to touch you. I think about the way you taste all the damn time. And I swear my couch still smells like you.” Dean reached up, fisting one hand in the fabric of Cas’s shirt. “So don’t ask me just to be _friends_ with you because I can’t fucking do it.”

He pulled at Cas’s shirt, and Cas crushed his mouth to his. A broken, needy whimper came from the back of Dean’s throat, but he couldn’t find it in himself to be embarrassed. Cas’s mouth was hot and wet, and Dean licked into it eagerly, his rough tongue scraping against Cas’s teeth. The hard stubble on Cas’s chin rubbed deliciously against his skin.

Cas kissed him deeply, hungrily, breathing into his mouth as his hands flew to his hips. They squeezed the soft skin there, before he spun them and pinned Dean against the wall, pushing the copy room door closed as they went.

When Dean’s back hit the wall, his breath left him in a whoosh, and he didn’t get the change to catch it; Cas’s mouth covered his again, claiming him, and Dean’s knees buckled. Trembling, Dean pushed his hands beneath the soft fabric of Cas’s shirt, digging his blunt fingernails into the ridges of bone and muscle. Cas arched his back into him, the sound of their ragged breath and rustling clothes filling the small room.

Cas snaked his hands around Dean’s back and pushed up beneath his shirt, and Dean shuddered when he felt Cas’s fingers dip lightly beneath the waistband of his jeans, skimming the skin there. Then his hands were brushing up Dean’s back, following each knob of his spine, making Dean shiver delicately and pant into Cas’s mouth.

Dean moved his hands from Cas’s torso and brought them up to his neck. He carded his hands through that thick, dark hair; he felt the longer strands curl around his fingers and he pulled, tilting Cas’s head back to he could dip his head and suck at the skin on Cas’s neck. He let his mouth cover the delicate pulse point beneath his ear, and Cas groaned softly, bending to expose more of his neck.

Dean let his teeth scrape against the delicate skin there, and that must have set Cas off, because he gave a noise like a low growl and pressed Dean tighter to the wall. He brought his lips to Dean’s again and kissed him hard and deep; their lips urgent and bruising against one another’s. Dean could feel the faint outline of Cas’s hard cock in his pants, and his own hips bucked up instinctively, aching for more friction. Cas complied, shoving a thigh between Dean’s knees and grinding down slowly. Dean moaned, his head falling back against the wall as Cas’s mouth moved down his neck.

Everything about it was feverish and urgent and aching. Their hands grappled for one another, and their mouths were greedy and hot, and nothing felt like it would ever be enough. It opened up a kind of chasm inside of Dean, and it was as if he just had this horrible emptiness inside of him; a black hole that he would surely fall into the second Cas stopped touching him.

So they kissed, and breathed, and tasted one another, until ten minutes had passed and their faces were flushed. Then, slowly, Dean pulled away and opened his eyes.

Cas was already looking at him. His blue eyes were hot and wild, yet sparked with vindication. They were both breathing hard, their chests rising and falling, and they just looked at each other.

Then, Cas stepped away from Dean, took a calming breath, before pulling open the door and stepping through it. When it closed, Dean let out a rattling breath and stared determinedly at the opposite while as his fried brain tried to process what the hell had just happened.

 

xXx

 

 _Fuck._ That was the word repeating itself in Cas’s head as he made his way back to the teacher’s lounge. He ran his hands through his hair, hoping to smooth it back into place. As he passed a display case of school trophies, he caught sight of his reflection and stopped. It didn’t look too much like he had just experienced maybe the hottest at-work make out session of his life, but his eyes were far too bright, and his lips looked a little kiss bruised. He scraped his knuckles across his mouth and tried to calm his still racing heart as he continued on his way to the lounge.

 _Fuck._ That was so not what Cas had planned for the next time he saw Dean. Sure, he wanted to win Dean over, but practically attacking the guy in darkened copy rooms did not fit in with that plan. He had wanted to talk with Dean; get to know him and ease his anxieties, earn his trust, earn _him,_ but then Dean had said those things and his hand reached up and bunched the fabric of Cas’s shirt and Cas had lost it…

And despite his disappointment in himself, Cas felt vindicated. Because now he knew, was more certain than before, that Dean wanted him too.

He couldn’t fuck this up. He couldn’t act that way again, like a hormonal teenager, groping and making out behind closed doors. He’d never acted that way before.

Taking a calming breath, Cas stepped into the teacher’s lounge to see that most of the faculty was already there. Principal Tran was sitting at the head of the mass of tables, chatting with the vice principal at her right side, while the rest of the teachers talked loudly. Glancing around, Cas spotted an empty chair beside Charlie. The redhead waved him over.

Cas forced a smile (which he hoped looked calm and natural) as he sat down.

“Cuttin’ it close, Professor.” Charlie glanced up at the clock, and Cas saw that it was one minute before seven o’clock. 

Cas chuckled a little. “I don’t intend to arrive early for something I’m absolutely dreading.”

“What, you mean pointless staff meetings aren’t the highlight of your month?” Charlie raised her eyebrow. Cas gave her a disparaging look.

Dean walked in then, and Cas felt his stomach flip. He ignored it, though he subconsciously ran his thumb over his lip while looking anywhere but at Dean.

Dean walked up to Principal Tran and handed her a thick stack of papers, before taking the empty seat beside Benny on the other side of the table. Cas couldn’t help himself, and peaked up at him through his eyelashes. Dean’s green eyes met his, just for an instant, and a blush immediately rose to his cheeks. Then he looked away.

“Alright,” Principal Tran said loudly, calling them to attention, “Thank you everyone for coming to November’s staff meeting. Let’s try and get through this quickly – I know the school isn’t exactly where you all want to spend your evening.”

There was a murmur of agreement, and Principal Tran began passing out papers around the table. As the meeting progressed, Cas was barely paying attention. Try as he might to actually listen (and care) about a fundraiser for new soccer uniforms, and better monitoring of the smoking area by the football field, he just didn’t have it in him. He could still taste Dean on his lips – this sweet yet masculine taste, like salty caramel.

And _oh god,_ now Cas was practically daydreaming during this meeting, thinking of Dean’s mouth and his hands scratching up his ribs…

Thankfully, Principal Tran went through the items on the meeting agenda fairly fast. Forty-five minutes had past, and the meeting was nearly over, when she said,

“Now, our last item – we have the football game on Friday night. The last home game of the season. I know a few of you haven’t been able to supervise a game yet, so I put together a schedule for who’s supervising when and where. If you’ll flip to the other side of the agenda…”

There was a rustling as everyone flipped over their papers. Cas’s eyes scanned the list, searching out his own amongst the other names. He spotted it near the bottom of the page, during the last shift of the game. He was to supervise the section east of the bleachers, and when he looked at the name beside his, he saw that Dean would be watching the west side.

His eyes involuntarily flicked up to Dean, and saw those green eyes already watching him.

“Can I just ask,” Benny’s voice cut in, “Why we have to be supervisin’ these damn games? They’re after school hours.”

“Correct,” Principal Tran replied, and Cas finally tore his eyes from Dean’s, “But they’re on school grounds. And too many kids show up without adults. You know what goes on at these games, Benny – drinking, smoking. It never hurts to have an extra pair of eyes out there. And, of course, the teachers’ presence shows the kids that we support them.”

Benny didn’t look convinced, but he nodded all the same.

“Alright. So, you’ll see we have Benny and Roy taking the pre-game shift. Michelle and Charlie will supervise the first half. And Dean and Castiel will be supervising the second half. Does anyone have any problems with this?”

Principal Tran looked up at them, and Cas glanced around at the table. Benny, Charlie, Roy and Michelle were all shaking their heads, but Dean was still looking at Cas. Cas felt his cheeks redden.

“Dean?” Principal Tran asked. Dean tore his eyes from Cas.

“No. No problem.”

“Good. I think that’s all for tonight – I’ll see you all tomorrow.”

 

xXx

 

“Dean?” Sam’s alarmed voice sounded closer than it actually was, clear and distinct despite the fact that it was on the other end of a cell phone. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong.” Dean shifted a little, trying to keep his phone pressed between his cheek and his shoulder. He had one arm wrapped around Lola’s torso, while the other was grappling around in her mouth, avoiding her sharp teeth as he tried to pry out a button from the TV remote. “Why do you think something’s wrong?”

“Because,” Sam replied, “The last time you willingly called me, it was right after dad died. You were drunk off your ass with Benny and you guys couldn’t figure out where you were. Remember?”

“Vaguely.” Dean growled lowly. Lola mimicked him, her tongue trying to push his fingers out of the way. “But nothing’s wrong. “

“Then why does it sound like you’re being attacked?”

Dean bit his lip, his fingers finally closing around the plastic remote button. “Because Lola bit the menu button off my remote, and I’m trying to get it out of her mouth before she swallows the damn thing.”

Sam laughed heartily, and Dean let Lola go, who sneezed in annoyance before smearing her muzzle on the carpet. Dean held up the remote button, his hand completely covered in slobber, and wrinkled his nose. “Yeah, yuk it up, bitch.”

“Jerk. I told you that you guys would get along.”

“Yeah, you’re a genius. Look, I need a favour.”

“Shoot.”

“I got roped into supervising the football game tonight. Could you and Sarah watch Lola for me for a few hours? I just feel bad leaving her for that long on her own.”

“Yeah, of course. But couldn’t you just take her with you?”

Dean frowned as he stood up, holding his slobbered hand aloft. “Hell no. A puppy in a crowd of teenage girls? They’d be all over her.” Dean looked over his shoulder. Lola was currently playing with a neon pink tennis ball, which she would bat around with her paws before chasing it enthusiastically, her tail wagging a mile a minute. She bumped into the coffee table and sent an empty beer bottle toppling over. “Lola doesn’t need any more excitement in her life. Trust me."

“Okay, if you say so. Actually…” Sam’s voice turned somber, “I think some dog time would be good for Sarah right now.”

Dean dropped the gnarled up button in the trash and washed his hand in the kitchen sink. “Why’s that? Everything alright?”

“It’s fine, I guess. We got into touch with some adoption agencies, but… you know, we were both holding out. Hoping it wouldn’t come to this.”

Dean sighed, turning the sink faucet off. “I know, man. I’m sorry.”

“Me too. I guess everything happens for a reason.” Dean almost winced at the forced optimism in Sam’s voice. “But anyways, I think Sarah needs a distraction. It’s been a rough week. Hey – why don’t we make it a sleepover kind of deal?”

Dean’s eyebrows shot up. “Seriously?”

“Yeah. Nights have been sorta tense; Sarah isn’t sleeping. Having a dog in the house would be kind of comforting. We’re both dog crazy, but you know, we were waiting before getting one, until after…”

“Right.” Dean said. “Well yeah, that sounds great to me. Don’t get me wrong, I love the dog, but it would be nice to have a little break.”

Sam was quiet for a second, and then a warm little chuckle sounded over the line. Dean frowned. “What?”

“You love her.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “She’s a dog, Sam.”

“Yeah, but you _love_ her!” Sam teased.

“Well, yeah! She’s cute, she likes cheeseburgers and doesn’t bitch about the nudey mags in my bedside drawer. She’s awesome.”

“Dean, _tell_ me you’re not feeding Lola cheeseburgers.”

Dean pressed his lips together, shooting a glance over to where Lola was lying spread-eagled on the living room floor, her tennis ball wedged between her back teeth.

“It was only once.”

“ _Dean-“_

“I know, I know. No more people food, I promise. So this is cool, then? I can drop her off on my way to the school?”

“Yeah, sounds good to me. Just pack all the stuff she’ll need, and you can come get her whenever you want tomorrow.”

Packing things for a dog turned out to be more difficult than Dean had originally thought. He stuffed her food and dishes into one of those re-usable grocery bags, but then started deliberating when it came to picking toys. Lola obviously preferred her tennis ball and triceratops toy, so he packed those, but then he was at a loss. Did she need anything else? Did he pack her other toys just in case? The blanket that she’d taken to dragging around the apartment in her teeth? What if she got hurt – should he pack that doggie First-Aid kit he’d bought from the pet store with Sam? Or an extra leash in case she chewed through hers again?

In the end, Dean ended up stuffing practically everything the mutt had a claim on in that bag, before dropping her off at Sam’s. He studiously ignored his brother’s amused expression as he knelt down to the dog and ruffled her ears, promising to be back in the morning.

By the time Dean made it to the football field at the school, it was almost first whistle and he’d checked his phone three times. Sam hadn’t texted him, so he assumed Lola was alright.

As he locked the Impala and headed for the bleachers, Dean finally had to face what he’d been dreading ever since the staff meeting: an extra night of forced co-habitation with Castiel. Sure, they were gunna be at opposite ends of the bleachers, but the bleachers weren’t exactly big. It was just a small high school field.

The thing that he hated wasn’t that he would be in the same place as Castiel; the thing he hated was that he was sort of _excited_ about it.

He spent the first half of the game with Charlie. Technically, Dean didn’t have to be there until the second half, but he didn’t mind watching the kids play. He’d taught most of the team, and Michael was wide receiver, so he figured it couldn’t hurt to show him some support. The more he trusted Dean, the more likely it was he opened up about whatever was going on with him.

At halftime, Charlie chucked her now-empty Starbucks cup into the nearby trashcan and turned to Dean.

“Now,” She said, “Can I trust you here for the rest of the night? Or should I stay behind to _supervise?”_

Dean frowned at her. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about you being paired up with Professor McDreamy.” Charlie nodded over Dean’s shoulder, and Dean turned to follow her gaze.

On the other end of the bleachers, Dean could make out the dark figure of Castiel. He was wearing a black pea coat with a blue plaid scarf, and the chilled air had brought pinpoints of colour to his cheeks. Dean’s chest tightened, but he kept his face passive as he turned back to Charlie.

“I’ll be fine.” He said. Charlie raised a thin eyebrow.

“Just remember what I said. Okay? I mean, don’t get me wrong – I like the guy. He’s a sweetheart. But I don’t want you getting hurt.”

Dean had to fight not to roll his eyes. “I’m not totally incompetent. I can look after myself. All right?”

Charlie pursed her lips, watching him for a second, before she nodded. “All right.”

The players took the field again, and the bleachers erupted into cheers and applause. Charlie glanced around at the crowd and out to the field, before looking at Dean again. “Have fun.” She grinned, waving a little before she turned and disappeared behind the bleachers. Dean watched her go, before he turned and faced the field, leaning a little against the chain-link fence.

He cast a sidelong glance toward the opposite side of the bleachers. Cas was standing in an identical position, and occasionally he’d wave to a few students who’d call his name from the stands. Dean watched him for a moment, but then Cas caught him looking, and he raised a dark eyebrow at him. Dean looked away quickly, trying to ignore the warmth he felt rising to his cheeks.

It was going to be a long night.

xXx

 

Castiel had had to supervise his fair share of school events. Homecoming dances, proms, sports games, fundraisers, pep rallies. At this point, they were all beginning to run together.

The games were the worst, in his opinion. Sports were never a priority in his house when growing up, and he hardly thought wrestling in the backyard with Gabriel counted as a sport. So he didn’t understand the rules or how the plays worked, and would most often spend any given game just wishing it were over already.

That football game, that Friday night, was different. Because Dean Winchester was standing just twenty yards away. He was wearing one of those black Carhartt jackets, and a flannel shirt was peaking out from beneath the collar. There was a pair of thick working boots on his feet. He looked so adorable and blue-collar; more comfortable in his skin than he was when forced into sharp suits and constricting ties. Cas imagined Dean raking leaves in that jacket; he imagined him stringing up Christmas lights on the eaves troughs of some cute house with a porch.

He wondered if Dean could even put up Christmas lights in his apartment. He doubted there was really any proper place for them.

Shortly after the whistle blew, signaling the beginning of the second half, it started raining. It wasn’t a heavy downpour, thankfully, but a steady drizzle; it settled on Cas’s shoulders and soaked through his jacket. He could feel the cold water running through his hair and beneath his collar, and he shivered, stuffing his hands in his pockets. The field gradually turned to slick mud. Umbrellas opened in the stands.

Cas tried to keep his eyes on the game. He tried to monitor the kids who’d duck behind the concession stand for a cigarette – making sure what they were smoking was _only_ cigarettes – and he regularly checked the shadows beneath the bleachers for any suspicious activity. But it soon became obvious that he and Dean had some weird game of tag going on, because most of their time was spent with one of them trying to look at the other without anyone noticing. 

Neither of them was very good at it. 

Unfortunately, the school’s team lost. Cas didn’t quite understand how or if the game could at least be considered a good one, but he knew that their team had less points, and that meant that they hadn’t won. The hoards of people were annoyed and angry, bickering with one another and swearing enthusiastically as they made their way down the bleachers and toward the parking lot. Cas watched them go, ensuring the kids actually threw their trash in the trash cans and eventually confiscating a half-empty can of Pabst Blue Ribbon from a senior student.

He heard the yelling before he saw them. The mass of students slowed on its way toward the parking lot, heads turning toward the entrance to the locker rooms. Cas frowned, throwing the can in the trash before pushing his way through.

As he rounded the end of the bleachers, he came face to face with a chilling sight: one of the senior students, mud-smeared uniform on but helmet off, watched in frozen horror as an older man Cas didn’t recognize faced off with Dean. Dean’s eyes were angry and cold, and Cas could hear his biting, enraged tone even if he couldn’t make out the words. The other man’s face was red and a thick vein was pulsing out of his forehead.

Cas’s blood froze, and he hurried over to the two men, making it just in time before they lunged at each other.

 

xXx

 

The school’s football team wasn’t exactly top shit. Still, Dean was used to watching better games than this. The other team had been ahead by a few respectable points at half time, but as the second half continued and neither scores budged, tensions began to run high. Dean watched as the players grew restless and the coaches began yelling, and he could practically feel the anxiety rolling off the field in waves.

Sometimes, he preferred to watch games from the safety of his couch. 

Three minutes were left on the clock when it looked like their team had a shot – but then Dean watched, his heart plummeting, as none other than Michael fumbled the ball. Everything was soaked through; Dean would have been surprised if the kid had managed to hold onto it. But still, it was hard to watch when the other team scored an additional touchdown before the game was finally over.

Grumbling, the crowd got to its feet and began shuffling toward the exits. The locker rooms were a short distance away, so Dean slowly made his way to them, hoping to at least give Michael a pat on the back and a “good effort out there”. The kid probably needed it.

Everything already seemed loud: the rain splattering in mud puddles, the hoards of people thundering down the bleachers, the cars starting in the distance. But he could still hear the sound of an irate voice, spewing venom through the night air, and he immediately searched out its source.

That’s when he found Michael. The poor kid was standing stock-still, helmet off and damp hair clinging to his forehead as he stared at the drenched ground. Towering over him was a broad-shouldered, red-faced man, his eyes sparked with anger as he yelled. He was obviously older than Dean, in his late forties or early fifties.

“You let your entire team down. You realize that, right? This could have been a victory if you would have just held onto the damn ball.” 

Michael nodded numbly. His dad stepped toward him.

“You look at me when I’m talking to you!” He demanded, grabbing his son’s chin roughly in his hand.

Dean’s heart raced, adrenaline and anger pumping strongly in his system, and before he knew it, he was pushing himself between Michael and the man he could only assume was his father.

“Why don’t you calm down, okay pal? It’s just a game.” He said. The man didn’t miss a beat.

“It’s not just a game – it’s the _principle_ of the thing. He lacks discipline, that’s what this is about.”                                                                                      

“Discipline?” Dean’s eyebrows shot up. “I’m the kid’s teacher, and I’m pretty sure I can vouch for his discipline.”

“Oh, so you think you know my boy better than I do?” The man pushed into Dean’s space now. Dean didn’t back down.

“I think I know when to lay off and give him a break.” Dean shot back, his voice rising. “It’s high school football, for fuck’s sake!”

A crowd had gathered now. A few kids whipped out their cell phones.

“Why don’t you back off and let me deal with my kid however the hell I want, huh?”

“Being a parent doesn’t give you the right to be a damn bully!” Dean could barely breathe with how angry he felt. All he saw was red. 

“Why don’t you mind your own damn business?”

“Michael’s one of my students, so this _is_ my damn business!”

“Tough-love never hurt anybody! Maybe someone should have taught _you_ that, too.”

Dean felt something inside of himself snap, and he lunged at the man, wanting nothing more than to feel his fist connecting with bone and muscle and tissue. But something held him back; a strong force wrapped around his middle, and he just ended up grappling blindly.

A few other adults were pulling the man away from Dean, and Dean looked down to see the arm of a pea coat holding him firmly.

“Let me go, Cas.” He growled.

“No.” Cas replied firmly, dragging Dean back a few feet. Damn, the guy was strong. Dean’s eyes were still fixated on Michael’s father, but a group of parents were ushering him back out to the parking lot.

“Go get changed.” The man pointed to Michael, who was still standing dumbfounded, his face pale. “I’ll meet you at the car.”

Michael nodded at him, then turned to look at Dean. Dean took a ragged breath, shooting Michael a pleading glance that he hoped conveyed _I’m sorry._

No matter how much trouble Michael had been in before, Dean had probably just made it worse.

“Let me go, Cas.” Dean said again, his voice calmer this time. “I just want to talk to Michael.”

Dean felt Cas hesitate, and then his arm slipped free. Dean pushed away and walked over to Michael, who was still standing in the rain.

“Hey,” He said, placing a reassuring hand on the boy’s shoulder. “You all right?”

Michael looked at him with wide eyes. “I’m fine. He just… gets like that sometimes.”

“I know.” Dean said softly. “Believe me. I know. But… you better let him cool off. Alright? Maybe stay with someone else tonight. You got a friend you can stay with?”

Michael thought for a moment, his brow furrowing.

“He can stay with me.” Another senior, who Dean recalled seeing Michael with in the halls, was standing uncertainly behind him. “My folks won’t mind.”

Dean nodded at him, gratitude plain in his eyes. He looked back at Michael.

“Sound good? Just for the night. Let the old man sleep it off.”

Michael glanced at his friend, and then turned back to Dean. He nodded.

“Alright.” Dean nodded once, curtly.

Dean was certain he probably wasn’t allowed to give students his number, or that it at least was _frowned upon,_ so he gave Michael Sam’s number. It felt good, just to have that sense of a backup. Maybe Dean couldn’t bring himself to rat the kid’s family out to Ava, but he could at least do what he could to help.

After talking briefly with Michael’s friend, Dean allowed himself to trudge back to the parking lot, his boots sloshing through the muddy rain puddles. He was completely soaked through, and he kept his head bent against the rain, only looking up when he was sure he was close to the Impala.

That’s when he saw Castiel leaning against Baby’s passenger door, his arms crossed and his brow furrowed in concern.

Dean stopped, and for a second they just looked at each other.

“Dean…” Cas started, sympathy plain on his face, but Dean started for the driver’s side.

“Not a word, Cas.” He said, unlocking the door. “Just get in the car. You’re soaked.”

Cas pursed his lips at Dean, before pulling open the passenger door and climbing inside.

Dean turned the keys in the ignition, and Baby roared to life, but for a few minutes he sat there. The night was growing cooler, so he turned the heat on and adjusted the vents, feeling Cas’s eyes on him the entire time.

“It’s Michael. The student you were talking about earlier. Isn’t it?” He asked quietly. Dean didn’t look at him as he nodded. 

“I was still kinda hoping I was wrong.” He said, his voice rough.

“Dean, I understand that this is a bad situation. He’s not a good man. But you can’t… if you’d have assaulted him tonight, you could have been arrested. Charged. You would have definitely been fired.”

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose. “I know, I know. I just lost it, okay?”

They were quiet for a few more minutes. An old CCR song was playing on the stereo.

“I know that you care about Michael.” Cas said suddenly, his voice soft. “And you obviously want to do the right thing. But this seems… more personal than that.”

Cold prickled down Dean’s spine. He stared at the Impala’s steering wheel, his jaw tensing as he tried to keep his breathing under control.

“My old man…” He started, but his voice came out rasped and cracking, so he cleared his throat and tried again. “My old man wasn’t exactly a stand-up guy, either. I guess I just sympathize with him. That’s all.”

Even to him, Dean’s explanation sounded like he was leaving out way more than he was telling. But Cas didn’t press further.

“Do you think,” Dean asked timidly, “that maybe you could stay again tonight? We could just… watch a movie or something. I don’t really wanna be alone. Not after that.”

Cas’s entire face softened. “Of course, Dean. Whatever you want.”

They both were quiet on the ride to Dean’s place, Dean seething with the anger that had turned to anxiety and fear, and Cas glancing at him with barely concealed concern. Dean parked the Impala and they rushed through the rain into the building, even though they were already wet all the way through.

Inside Dean’s apartment, he was almost disoriented when Lola didn’t bark and whine from inside her crate. That’s when he remembered, with a sort of pang of loss, that she was at Sam and Sarah’s.

“Where’s Lola?” Cas asked, and for whatever reason, Dean’s heart warmed at the fact that Cas had remembered her name.

“Sammy’s. Sarah wanted some dog time.” Dean replied stiffly, peeling off his jacket and draping it over a kitchen chair. He was starting to shiver. “I wanna shower, but I can grab you a change of clothes first.”

“I’m fine.” Cas said gently. “You look freezing. Go have a shower.”

Dean raised is eyebrows at him. Truthfully, Cas’s suggestion was exactly what he needed to hear; nothing seemed better than a steaming hot shower, to hopefully work the tension out of his muscles and wash the memories of the evening away. But he wasn’t used to people giving him what he wanted, let alone needed. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.” Cas replied, his kind blue eyes unwavering. Dean hesitated, before he nodded once and headed into the bathroom attached to his room.

Shaking, he closed the door and stripped down, his clothes gathering in a cold, wet heap on the floor. He turned the water to nearly scalding and stepped beneath the stream, sighing as he felt the cold leech from his skin.

The water was the only thing that felt good, though. Michael’s father’s words were imprinted on his brain, as if they’d been branded there with a hot iron. Dean could feel phantom wounds rising to the surface of his skin: bruises on his throat, scrapes on his knees, lacerations and cuts from broken beer bottles, burns from the ends of cigarettes. He braced his hands against the tile of the shower, trying to support himself despite the way his knees were wobbling, and only when he heard a shuddering sob did he realize he was crying.

Distantly, he was aware of someone knocking on the door, but he couldn’t move. Slowly, he crumpled until he was sitting beneath the stream of water, one knee bent to his chest as he ran his trembling hands through his hair.

Something cold touched his shoulder, and he looked up into sad, clear blue eyes. Cas was kneeling beside the tub, the door standing ajar behind him. Dean knew that he should probably be embarrassed that he was stark naked and crying, but he didn’t care. Actually, he realized with a jolt, he really didn’t care about anything, except that cool, calming contact of Cas’s hand on his shoulder.

“Dean,” Cas said, his wrecked voice clear despite the running of the water. Dean just looked at him: his dark hair still rain-slick and sticking up at odd angles, his white t-shirt soaked and clinging to his shoulders. Slowly, Dean reached up and ran his fingers through Cas’s hair, the cold raindrops a shock to his steam-warmed skin. Cas’s eyes melted, and Dean leaned forward timidly, before Cas closed the rest of the space for him.

 

xXx

 

Castiel found Dean in the shower. And Cas knew that, regularly, he wouldn’t just go walking into people’s showers. But Dean had started trembling halfway home from the school, and his eyes were already far away and gone as he walked back to the bathroom, and when Cas heard the muffled cries he knew he couldn’t just _leave_ him in there. He couldn’t pretend he didn’t know what was happening.

He was just going to make sure Dean was all right. Maybe pass him a towel, help him to bed; he could undoubtedly use a good night’s sleep. When Cas knelt beside the tub, he kept his eyes trained to Dean’s face, trying to respect his privacy. Dean’s eyes were far away. 

“Dean,” Cas said, his voice cracking, pleading for the man to come back from whatever nightmare he’d locked himself away in. At the sound of Cas’s voice, Dean gave a small breath, and his hand came up to brush gently through Cas’s hair.

Dean’s skin was hot and smooth, and Cas yearned to lean into the touch, but Dean seemed skittish enough as it was and Cas didn’t want to scare him.

But then Dean was leaning forward – just slightly, hesitantly – and Cas did the rest. He gently caught Dean’s lips in his own, tasting the warm shower water on his skin, and the grip on his hair tightened. Dean’s lips parted slightly, inviting him in, and Cas obliged; he licked into his mouth slowly, languidly, coaxing the caught breath from Dean’s lungs. His breath was shaky but relieved, and Cas kissed him deeper.

It took a few seconds, but Castiel’s senses finally came back to him and he pulled away. “Dean…” He rasped out, his voice hardly audible over the sound of the water. He wasn’t sure what to say next, but he was certain he should hold himself back. He didn’t want Dean to think he was taking advantage of him like this.

“It’s okay, Cas.” Dean breathed, and his voice was low but it was certain. “Just kiss me, please.” 

So Cas did.

Slowly, they stood up, and Dean pulled Cas into the shower. He felt the hot water soaking through his clothes, and he shivered with warmth as all traces of the cold rain left his body. Dean’s hands fit snugly around Cas’s neck, his thumbs stroking across his jaw as he kissed him.

Cas slowly raised his hands, but hesitated before touching Dean’s naked body. He let them hover above the glistening muscles of his stomach, unsure whether that contact would be okay, but then Dean leaned forward until Cas’s palms were sliding softly across his wet skin. Dean shivered, and Cas sighed into his mouth, his fingers slowly spreading and searching.

Dean gradually undressed Cas, peeling the wet clothes from him like a bothersome second skin. The water was running in hot rivulets down their bodies, pooling in the dips and shallows of muscle and bone, and the bathroom had thickened with steam. Dean backed up against the tile as he pulled Cas toward him, and Cas stretched and arched his body against Dean’s. As Cas’s blood-thick cock slid up against Dean’s, Dean let out a stuttering, soft moan, his fingers digging into the small of Cas’s back.

Despite the growing sparks of lust, their kisses never roughened. Cas kissed him sweetly, his lips brushing delicately and tongue pulsing gently into the heat of Dean’s mouth. Dean responded eagerly, his body relaxing and moving beneath Cas’s touch as they breathed into one another.

Dean rolled his hips up into Cas, a soft, needy sound escaping his lips. Cas braced one hand against the tile, and brought the other between their bodies. Dean groaned when Cas’s hand wrapped around both their cocks, his back lifting a little off the tile as he arched into him. 

When Cas’s hand squeezed gently and began moving, Dean let his head fall back, his breath coming in a shudder. Cas moved his mouth to Dean’s neck, tasting the hot water where it streamed across his skin. Dean moved his hips up into Cas’s fist, and the friction pulled a soft whimper from his lips. Cas’s motions quickened, and their bodies moved and slid together easily in the wet heat of the shower, the give and take of the movement punching pleasure through their systems. Cas’s breath quickened, and he panted open-mouthed against Dean’s neck. Dean brought a hand up, gripping Cas’s hair in a shaking hand as he whispered pleas of Cas’s name.

The hot pleasure curled sweetly in Cas’s muscles, and he felt Dean tense beneath him, and within minutes both of them were coming. Dean’s breath caught and Cas bit down gently on the skin of Dean’s throat as he forced back a relieved cry. Their bodies were taught and stretched against one another’s, the pleasure rippling gently and igniting spots of light behind closed eyes.

The water washed away the mess before it even had a chance to settle on their skin, but neither of them moved. Their chests were rising and falling rapidly, and Cas braced both hands against the wall as he let his forehead rest in the crook of Dean’s neck. Dean’s arms wrapped loosely around his waist.

Once Cas’s pulse began to quiet, he lifted his head and looked at Dean. His green eyes were soft and sated; there was barely a hint of the ghosts he’d been fighting when he’d retreated to the bathroom earlier. Cas kissed him softly, and Dean’s lips were hesitant but open.

“Was that okay?” Cas asked softly, once he pulled away. Dean blinked at him, searching his face a moment before nodding. 

“Yeah.” He replied. It was only one word, but it was spoken with such quiet certainty that relief flooded Cas’s system. He smiled, and let out a shaky breath, before pressing another tender kiss to Dean’s lips.

Cas pulled Dean under the spray of the shower. He let Dean lather shampoo in his dark hair, and then returned the favor. As soap turned to froth and bubbles on their skin, Cas smoothed his hands across the tight muscles in Dean’s body. He could feel the tension in his shoulders, along his back; he could pick out faint scars in the otherwise flawless skin. He tried not to think about where they were from.

Timidly, Dean’s hands explored Cas’s body, his eyes taking in the tattoos that were usually hidden beneath clothes. Dean’s gaze traced the lines of the Latin script on Cas’s ribs, and then the detailed feather near the dip of hips.

Cas could tell Dean didn’t necessarily like people looking at or getting overly friendly with his body. His shoulders started out hunched, as if he were trying to cave in on himself. He kept his eyes averted and there was a self-conscious blush coloring his cheeks. But Cas was patient and persistent, gently rubbing the knots from his muscles, and it wasn’t long before Dean was melting beneath the touch. He closed his eyes, his hands running up Cas’s chest idly as Cas pressed his hands into Dean’s back. 

In the end, it looked like Dean was about to fall asleep beneath the stream of the shower, but the water was slowly turning cold. So he reluctantly shut the water off, and allowed Cas to wrap him in a towel.

Out in the bedroom, he threw Cas a pair of pajamas pants and an old t-shirt. Cas pulled them on somewhat self-consciously – he felt more naked, somehow, without the steam and heat of the shower – but Dean had already changed into his pajamas and was lying facedown on his bed.

Once he was clothed, Cas joined him, sitting a little timidly beside Dean. Dean didn’t lift himself up.

“What are we, Cas?” He asked, his voice muffled by the blanket. Cas swallowed.

“What do you want to be?”

“I don’t like labels.” Dean answered. Cas bit his lip uncomfortably. He _liked_ labels. Labels were reassuring and orderly; he lived most of his life within the safety of labels: son. Brother. Student. Teacher. Father.

Then again, labels weren’t always kind to him.

Different. Rebellious. Gay. Disowned. Lost.

He looked at Dean. “We don’t have to label anything, Dean. But… I like you. And I like being around you, I like talking to you and kissing you. Is that really such a bad thing?” He asked quietly.

Now, Dean pushed himself up, resting on his elbows as he looked at Cas with soft green eyes. “No.” He said. “It’s not a bad thing.”

They looked at each other for a second, before Dean reached out and pulled Cas down onto the bed beside him. Cas settled in, slotting his body easily beside Dean’s, their legs gently bumping. Dean rolled to face him, but he kept his arms curled up by his chest.

“I’m a terrible boyfriend.” He warned quietly, his eyes worried.

“Maybe I could be the judge of that.” Cas suggested, his lip quirking up, but Dean shook his head.

“I don’t want to prove myself right.” He whispered.

“Dean,” Cas’s voice was low and serious, “I can handle this. I can handle _you._ Panic attacks and past trauma don’t scare me. You know that I’m not perfect, either.”

Dean reached out absently, fiddling with the fabric of Cas’s borrowed t-shirt. “I know.”

“I just…” Cas began, then hesitated, trying to sort his thoughts. “I want to prove myself to you. There’s something here, with us. And I can’t ignore it. Don’t you feel it, too?” 

Slowly, Dean raised his eyes to meet Cas’s, and he nodded. “Yeah. It scares the shit out of me, but I do.”

Cas brought a hand up, gently running his fingers through the still damp strands of Dean’s hair. “Please give me a chance, Dean. Please.”

Dean was quiet, a million emotions passing through his eyes as he looked at Cas. Cas picked out distrust and fear, but there was also a yearning; this deep want that was so plain and strong that it almost broke his heart.

After what seemed like an eternity, Dean whispered, “Okay.”


	14. Actual Boyfriends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YOU GUYS your comments are all so sweet, you make me cry!! Seriously, thank you so much <3

There were periods in Dean’s life – when his destructive behaviors were at minimum; when he felt like he actually had his shit together – where Dean was reminded that he was a morning person. 

He liked early sunlight. He liked good coffee and quiet morning radio shows, and holy shit, he loved breakfast food. Once upon a time, he’d wake up early on Sundays just to make bacon and eggs and watch the highlights from the hockey game from the night before. He liked watching the lights in the building across the street slowly blink to life, window after window, the strange reassurance of distantly sharing the morning with other people.

Dean hadn’t liked mornings for a long time. But when he woke up that Saturday, the sunrise was bright across the comforter of his bed. It sent gentle ripples of warmth across his skin, and he burrowed beneath the blankets deeper, the soft fabric dragging pleasantly across his skin.

That’s when he felt the strong arms wrapped possessively around his middle. And usually this would have caused a sort of panic to shoot through him, except it didn’t that morning, because he knew who it was. The presence of Castiel was as reassuring and warm as the sunlight. With each breath he could smell him; the scent of Cas’s skin and hair, permeated with Dean’s own shampoo yet still smelling like _Cas._ Dean smiled, pushing back a little into the solid pressure of his body. Cas’s nose was resting against Dean’s neck, and it burrowed into his skin, breathing in deeply as his arms tightened.

“Are you awake?” Dean whispered, sounding for all his life like a twelve year old at a sleepover. Cas chuckled softly, probably thinking the same thing.

“Yeah. What time is it?” His voice was thick and groggy with sleep.

Dean glanced at the clock on his bedside table. “Eight thirty.”

Cas groaned. “Too early. Sleeeeep.”

Dean chuckled now, turning in Cas’s arms to face him. Cas looked like a grumpy cat, his face all scrunched up and sleep-lined, and his dark hair was flattened in some places and sticking up in others.

“Mr. Novak,” Dean teased softly, “Are you not a morning person?”

Cas’s frown deepened. “Morning people are not to be trusted.”

Dean grinned, leaning forward and pressing butterfly kisses to Cas’s neck. Cas hummed quietly, tilting his head and exposing more of his skin. Dean brushed his lips across the rough hair growing along his jaw, enjoying the gentle scratch of it, and Cas sleepily moved his hands up and around Dean’s neck, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.

“I’m not used to waking up with another person in the bed.” He admitted, his voice still gruff and low. “But I like it.”

“What, no one-night stands?” Dean joked, lifting his head to look into Cas’s blue eyes. A small laugh tripped from Cas’s lips.

“Do I strike you as a one-night stand type of person?” He lifted a dark eyebrow. Dean shook his head.

“No. But I still don’t know a whole lot about you.”

Cas blinked at him. “I said I’d tell you anything. What do you want to know?”

Dean bit his lip, holding back the reply _everything._ That was a little too sappy for him, even though it was true. Instead, he sifted through the information he already knew about Cas.

“You’re family…” Dean started, but then hesitated, not sure how to continue.

“Are mobsters.” Cas finished easily. Dean’s eyes widened a little. “I’m not ashamed to say it. It’s how I grew up – I thought everyone’s family was like mine. It wasn’t until I was older that I realized we were different.”

“So you left.” Dean prompted.

“Not… necessarily.” Cas squinted, tilting his head a little as he thought. “I tried to stay, but I always knew I didn’t fit in – my father always said I had too much heart.”

“That doesn’t seem like a bad thing to me.”

“In my family’s business? It can be.” Cas shrugged. “But – I wanted out. They told me if I was going, to stay gone. And I did. I went to school, got my degree, and stayed on the road. I haven’t talked to anyone in my family in ten years.”

Dean frowned a little. “That sounds lonely.”

“I wasn’t particularly fond of most of them.” Cas admitted, looking down as he played with the hem of Dean’s shirt. “Though sometimes I still miss Gabriel.”

“Gabriel?”

“My older brother.” Cas smiled sadly. “But I don’t regret leaving. I did what I had to.”

“So have you ever… killed a guy?” Dean wiggled his eyebrows, trying to make light of the question that had secretly been bothering him. Cas laughed softly.

“No. Not for lack of opportunity – I just always refused. One of the many reasons my family knew I wasn’t cut out for the life.” Cas looked at Dean. “Did you think I had?”

Dean shook his head. “Not really. I mean, Charlie found your criminal record, and you’d never been charged with murder or anything, so… ”

Castiel’s eyebrows shot up. “You looked at my criminal record?”

“No.” Dean said defensively, though Castiel didn’t look mad. “Charlie did. She just… told me about it.”

Castiel chuckled. “It’s alright. Compared to my family, my record is practically a blank slate.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean.” Dean teased. “Accessory and conspiracy? That’s run of the mill shit. Who _doesn’t_ have that on their records?”

Cas rolled his eyes, and Dean laughed softly. “You think you’re pretty cute, huh?”

Dean grinned. “I think I’m adorable.”

Cas answered this by leaning forward, and Dean snuggled closer to him, letting his hands rest on Cas’s stomach as he kissed him softly.

“I need to know something else.” Dean said quietly, his lips brushing against Cas’s.

“What’s that?” Cas whispered back.

“What do you want for breakfast?”

It had been so long since Dean had actually felt hungry that he almost didn’t recognize the sensation at all. He decided to let Cas sleep in a little, so he busied himself by digging around the kitchen and contemplating the possibility that he was nauseous. But it didn’t feel like nausea; not really. When Dean’s stomach let out an interested growl, Dean just stopped when he realized: he was _hungry._

The apartment seemed strangely quiet without Lola, so Dean ended up switching on the barely-used radio as he made breakfast. He managed to find a box of pancake mix, which he miraculously had the ingredients to make work. Within twenty minutes the kitchen smelled like maple syrup and butter and coffee, and pale autumn light was filtering through the windows, and Dean couldn’t help humming along to the song that came on the radio.

He wasn’t even aware Cas had shuffled out of his room until he spoke.

“May I inquire as to why there is a gun on this table?” His voice was still rough with sleep. Dean turned around, a spatula in his hand, and took in the sight of Cas – dark hair mussed, Dean’s ACDC t-shirt draping from his shoulders and flannel pajamas pants slung low on his hips. Dean’s mind flashed to the previous night and what Cas’s wet skin had felt like, slick against his in the shower and he looked away, feeling warmth rise to his cheeks.

“This is America, man.” He joked as he flipped another pancake. “Having a gun is my constitutional right.”

Cas snorted a little, inspecting the gun closer. “Granted. I just usually don’t see them lying around in people’s homes."

Dean shrugged. “My old man was an ex-marine. There was always guns around of some kind – old habits die hard, I guess.”

Cas turned the gun around in his hands. “This is a 92fs Inox.” He muttered quietly, inspecting the stainless steel closely. The side was engraved with leaf tooling and the words _J. H. Winchester._ For a second Dean was surprised that Cas knew what kind of gun it was; he even watched curiously as Cas handled it with comfortable familiarity. Then he remembered Castiel’s past – the guy had probably had his own gun by the time he was fifteen.

“Yep.” Dean said, plating the last pancake. “It was my old man’s. He didn’t leave much behind when he died, but… his old army buddies gave him that gun. Couldn’t bring myself to pawn it.”

Cas put the gun gently back on the table, then walked over and leaned against the counter beside Dean. “I never knew your father was in the army.”

Dean didn’t meet his gaze. “Marine corps, bronze star and purple heart.”

Cas’s eyes softened with admiration. “You must have been proud.”

Dean’s eyebrows pinched together, and he muttered, “That’s one word for it.”

Castiel frowned, his head tilting a little, but Dean just passed him a plate of pancakes and smiled. “Come on. Let’s watch some Saturday morning cartoons before I have to go pick up the mutt.”

Like with nearly everything else, Castiel seemed to take cartoons very seriously. While Dean laughed at the Road Runner’s antics, Castiel frowned deeply, stating that being in the coyote’s position would be “incredibly frustrating”.

Between the two of them, they ate all ten of the pancakes Dean had made. Castiel even asked if there were more.

“Are you serious?” Dean laughed a little. “You had, like, six.”

Cas shrugged, unashamed. “They were good. It’s been a while since I’ve had actual food for breakfast instead of Starbucks.”

“Dude, those pancakes don’t even qualify as actual food.” They were sitting on opposite ends of the couch, their legs resting between them and bumping together. “Next time I’ll make pancakes from scratch – not this Aunt Jemima shit.”

Cas raised his eyebrows at Dean, and a slow, sly smile lit up his face. “There’s a next time?”

Dean blushed, but he rolled his eyes half-heartedly. “Shut up, you know there is. I mean… if you don’t get tired of me.”

 “I won’t get tired of you, Dean. That’s impossible.” Cas’s face slipped into a tender expression that Dean had a hard time looking at. “You continue to surprise me all the time – for instance, I had no idea you could cook, much less make pancakes from scratch.”

Dean smiled a little, but a familiar embarrassment whittled into his stomach. He loved cooking, but John had never liked that part of his son – especially when Dean went on sprees where he would make _girly_ things like pies and pastries and cookies. As a result, Dean had only ever made steaks and burgers around his father, if that.

“It’s not hard.” Dean shrugged sheepishly.

“Says you.” Cas replied. “I, on the other hand, can hardly heat up soup without burning it.”

Dean laughed, crawling over to Cas’s side of the couch. He grabbed his hips and tugged him down, until Dean was hovering above him, his smile wide and predatory. “That’s pathetic.”

Cas’s blue eyes were bright. “I know. I’m a mess of a human being.”

Dean chuckled, leaning down and kissing Cas soundly. His lips parted and Cas’s tongue slid slowly into his mouth; exploring, tasting like maple and cinnamon and coffee, and Dean let his body dip down to press Cas into the cushions of the couch. Cas slipped his fingers beneath the fabric of Dean’s shirt and his touch ghosted across his stomach and ribs.

Cas’s touch sent a shiver wracking down Dean’s spine. Aside from his mother’s hugs and Charlie’s occasional jostle, Dean usually didn’t like being touched. It made him feel exposed and vulnerable; he didn’t trust the emotions that came with it. As a result, he hadn’t allowed himself to be touched – especially not intimately – in at least a year. It was a conscious choice, and he argued a necessary one, but nonetheless it was a lonely and isolating existence.

But now, Castiel’s touch was soft and certain and affectionate, and Dean had to stop himself from completely melting into it. He never knew being touched could feel this _good,_ he’d never let himself realize it,but the more he felt it the more he wanted. Because Cas wasn’t touching him with a sense of expectation or roughness; his fingers were gentle where they pushed into Dean’s skin, palms flat as they radiated warmth. He splayed his hands wide, trying to feel as much of Dean’s body as he could as he smoothed up the planes of Dean’s chest and then around to his back. It was slow and comfortable and soothing, and Dean breathed into Cas’s mouth, feeling his muscles relax beneath Cas’s attentive hands.

The touch felt like adoration. It felt like a necessity born of this basic human need for closeness, and Dean considered for the first time the possibility that it was okay he had that need, too. His heart swelled and he kissed Cas deeper, trembling a little when Cas’s fingers dipped beneath the waist of his flannel pajamas and briefs. They moved around to his stomach, the lightest of touches that sent goose bumps rising to the surface of Dean’s skin.

Dean’s kisses were open-mouthed and teasing; he let his tongue trace along the line of Cas’s bottom lip, and Cas’s breath stuttered a little as he sighed into Dean’s mouth. Dean felt like his mind was swimming; he was far from innocent, and yet just kissing Cas and sharing lazy touches had him rock-hard and aching. It just cemented in his mind how different Cas was for him; how nothing with Cas felt like anything he’d had before.

Panting a little, Dean pulled away and opened his eyes to look at the man beneath him.

“Are we really doing this?” He breathed. Cas’s blue eyes blinked up at him.

“You’re going to have to be more specific.”

Dean licked his lips. “This. Us. I know I said I don’t like labels, but…”

“Are you opposed to the word ‘boyfriend’?” Cas tilted his head at him.

“Not really. It just… freaks me out a little.”

Cas frowned. “Why?”

Dean sighed, leaning back and sitting on his heels. Cas just watched him. “Because I’m not good at it. The few times I’ve been someone’s boyfriend, I’ve fucked it up.”

“How?” There was a hint of a challenge laced in Castiel’s tone. Dean’s jaw flexed.

“It’s complicated.” He said tightly, but Cas raised his eyebrows. Figuring Cas wasn’t about to let it go, Dean reluctantly continued. “I dated this girl back in high school for awhile. And she was great, I really liked her. But… I dunno, I was a difficult kid to be around, sometimes. I had a shitty home life; I was confused about a lot of things. I guess she got sick of trying to fix me.”  

“What was her name?” Cas asked. Dean let a small, bittersweet smile tug at his lips.

“Cassie. Strangely enough.”

Cas smiled too. “Okay. Next?”

“Uh,” Dean shifted uncomfortably, scratching his fingers through his hair. “We weren’t official or anything, but there was this guy in college for a while. But I wasn’t out yet; it made things complicated. It just didn’t work.”

Cas’s brow knit in sympathy. Dean didn’t dare meet his gaze. Now, there was no bittersweet smile on Dean’s face; just a stony mask. Nick was someone he hardly ever allowed himself to think about; not because of the boy himself – they were a fling, nothing more – but because of the particularly nasty way they’d ended.

“Alright.” Cas said softly. “And who else?”

Dean shook his head. “That’s it. I had a friends-with-benefits thing going for a while with this girl – Lisa – but I fucked that up, too. It’s for the best, though. She was great; she could do better.”

Cas frowned. “Don’t talk like that.”

Dean just looked at him, a miserable expression on his face. Cas took a breath, before he said, “From what I’ve heard, none of those breakups were solely your fault.”

Dean scoffed a little. “You weren’t there.”

“Maybe not.” Cas replied easily. “But I’m here now. And I would very much like to call you my boyfriend, Dean Winchester.”

Dean let out a shaky breath, because _fuck him,_ he wanted that too. But it had been years since Dean had allowed himself to have what he wanted. He wasn’t sure he still remembered how. Trembling a little, Dean leaned forward and hovered over Cas again.

“You’re sure you want me?” He asked, his eyes somber. Cas didn’t even blink.

“I want you.” He replied steadily. Dean pressed a soft, hesitant kiss on his lips and then leaned his forehead against his.

“Then…okay.”  

xXx

Castiel thought it strange that he had only been in Dean’s Impala twice before. It already felt so familiar and comforting, you’d think Cas had spent hours in the passenger seat, slinking comfortably back into the leather upholstery. It smelled like motor oil and dust and _Dean._ He breathed it in, glancing over at the freckled man behind the steering wheel. Dean was wearing flannel beneath a green army-style jacket, and the colour brought out the colour in his eyes. For perhaps the first time, he looked almost happy; there was colour in his cheeks and his brow was smooth, instead of creased with anxiety or anger.

“Are you sure this is alright?” Cas asked for what had to be the fifth time. “You know that I would love to meet your brother. But if you feel it’s too soon…”

“Forget it, Cas.” Dean replied easily, turning off the main road and heading into an older, tree-lined neighborhood. “It’s not just because we’re… you know. You work with Sarah and me; you might as well meet Sam. You guys are gunna hit it off, trust me.” 

Cas looked at Dean, at the way the autumn light brought out the blonde strands in his sandy coloured hair. He was drumming his hands a little on the steering wheel, and while he gave off an air of nervousness, he seemed excited, too. Cas smiled.

“I trust you.”

They had passed by the street of Cas’s motel on the way across town, so it would have been entirely possible to drop Cas off before Dean went to pick up Lola. But neither of them wanted to separate just yet; even if it would only be for a few hours. So Dean insisted that Cas go with him.

Sam lived in a neighborhood that could only be described as _charming._ The houses were small and old, but well kept and full of character. The lawns were big and the trees so tall they touched one another above the street. Most of the leaves had fallen, and interlaced bare branches created a bracket against the chilled November sky. Dean pulled up to a small grey house with a front porch and cut the engine.

He shot Cas a reassuring smile and climbed out of the Impala. Cas swallowed his nerves before following.

When Dean knocked on the front door, a chorus of barks sounded from the inside and Dean’s face split into a wide smile.

“I knew she’d miss me.” He muttered, and then the door was swinging open to reveal Sarah in a pair of yoga pants and an oversized Stanford sweater. Lola bounded past her, a ball of drooling excitement as she clawed at Dean’s legs.

“Hey, kiddo.” Dean reached down and picked Lola up, cradling her to his chest as she licked his face. Sarah raised an eyebrow at him, and then looked at Cas.

“Wow. Sam said he was warming up to her, but this, I did _not_ expect.” She said. Cas held back a laugh.

“He still maintains he isn’t a dog person.” He replied, and Sarah rolled her eyes. It was a little weird, seeing her outside of the context of her art studio at school, but he supposed she was thinking the same thing about him. 

“Yeah, yuk it up, you two.” Dean grumbled, and Sarah motioned for them to come inside. Cas followed Dean studiously.

“How was she?” Dean asked, putting Lola back down as Sarah closed the door behind them.

“She was _great_.” Sarah said emphatically. “I think I caught puppy fever, thanks to her. Though, she seemed to have a problem with being left to sleep on her own. She wouldn’t stop howling until she slept on our bed with us.”

Dean quickly fixed his face into a mask of innocence. “Huh. I have _no_ idea where she got that from.”

Sarah looked at him dubiously. “Sure you don’t.”

Cas was watching this easy exchange quietly, when a tall, wiry-muscled man appeared through a doorway behind Sarah.

At first glance, he looked nothing like Dean. His hair was dark brown and it waved in slight curls around his ears, and his eyes were a bright, warm hazel. A boyish smile lit his face, which was punctuated by even more boyish dimples. There was an easy confidence to his gait, and an honesty to his expression that put him at odds with his older brother. But the set to his mouth was the same as Dean’s, and they shared the same angular jaw.

“Oh, thank God.” He said, a teasing note in his voice when he saw Dean. “Take your dog, please, before my wife steals her and hightails it to Mexico.”

Sarah rolled her eyes. “You’re hilarious.”

“I wouldn’t let her get that far, trust me.” Dean said. He looked at Cas, and then back to his younger brother. “Sam, this is Castiel.”

Cas was so used to hearing Dean call him just ‘Cas’ that the use of his full name sent a jolt down his spine. He’d always been unsure of his own name, but hearing it on Dean’s lips was definitely something he could get used to.

Sam stepped forward, extending a giant paw of a hand to Castiel. Castiel shook it, plastering a timid but warm smile on his face.

“Hey,” Sam said, returning Castiel’s smile even as his eyes flickered between Cas and Dean. “I think we met over the phone.”

“Right.” Cas said, involuntarily shooting Dean a sideways glance. “It’s a pleasure to meet you in person.”

“Yeah, you too.” Sam replied easily, leaning against the door jam. “Between Sarah and Dean, I’ve heard lots about you.”

“All good things.” Sarah put in, smiling kindly at Castiel. Then she turned her eyes to Dean. “Dean, however, seems to be making quite the name for himself.”

Dean frowned. “What’re you talking about?”

“You didn’t see it?” Sam asked, his voice cautious. Unease prickled up Cas’s spine.

“See what?” Impatience worked its way into Dean’s voice.

Sarah and Sam exchanged a look, before Sam motioned for them to follow him back down the hall.

xXx

Dean had brought someone to meet his family a grand total of once. But so many things had been different then. He had been young and, for the most part, innocent – naïve, at the very least. And Cassie was bright and cheerful and a total charmer. She won over everyone in the Winchester family easily, even John.

It was easier to bring your girlfriend around to your house when you were fifteen, because it’s not like there was a whole lot of pressure. If the girl was nice and you treated her right, there was basically nothing to worry about. It’s not like anybody expected it to last.

Things were different now, and a lot more complicated. Because Dean was 28 and far from emotionally stable; because he’d made it clear he’d sworn off relationships of any kind. And also, because he wasn’t bringing home a girl, but someone who was very much a _man._ He knew for a fact Sam wouldn’t mind, and neither would Mary, but that didn’t stop the initial fear that knotted itself in Dean’s stomach.

Still, Dean couldn’t deny that he wanted Cas to meet Sam. He figured there wasn’t any harm in it, considering the two had already talked on the phone. But more than that, he wanted them to know each other. He wanted Sam to see how good and kind Cas was; he needed Cas to have the Sam Winchester stamp of approval. And he wanted Cas to know what a kick-ass little brother he had.

Before he and Cas had left for Sam’s, he’d sent his brother a quick text: _Coming to pick up Lola and bringing someone with me. Be cool, okay?_

Sam had replied: _Sounds good. When am I not cool?_

Dean scoffed a little at that.

Still, he was glad he’d at least given Sam the head’s up as he watched Sam plaster on a polite grin and shake Cas’s hand. They were both discreetly sizing each other up while casting not too subtle glances at Dean. He fought not to roll his eyes.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you in person.” Cas said, his rough voice clipping the words into polite syllables. Sam’s hazel eyes were sharp on Cas, taking in his dark hair and pea coat. Dean saw his gaze linger slightly on the jeans Cas was wearing, and he hoped it wasn’t obvious they were a borrowed pair of Dean’s.

“Yeah, you too.” Sam replied easily. “Between Sarah and Dean, I’ve heard lots about you.”

“All good things.” Sarah said. “Dean, however, seems to be making quite the name for himself.”

 “What’re you talking about?”

“You didn’t see it?” Sam’s voice was cautious; a warning sign he knew something Dean didn’t, and that telling Dean would likely set him off.

“See what?”

Sam motioned for them to follow him back to his office, and Dean shot Cas a wary look before they followed. Lola was close at their heels.

At a desk cluttered with papers and thick books, Sam pulled open the lid of his laptop and navigated to an already open video player. Dean and Cas stood behind Sam, and Dean squinted, leaning toward the frozen image of the video. It was blurry and shaky, and he couldn’t quite make it out at first. It was only when Sam clicked the play button did Dean realize what he was seeing.

Though rain was splattering the lens, and the video taker was obviously being jostled by the crowd, it was clear what was being filmed: Dean and Michael’s father, inches away from each other and voices raised. Luckily, there was enough noise on the recording – feedback from the phone, the wind howling in the speaker and the crowd muttering – that there was no way to make out what Dean and the man were yelling.

“This was on YouTube and Facebook this morning.” Sam supplied.

“Jesus Christ.” Dean muttered, his eyes glued to the video as he braced his hands on Sam’s desk. “I had no idea the kids were filming this.”

“It’s the 21st century. Just assume that if you’re in public, you’re being filmed.” Sarah said bitterly, leaning in the office doorway. Cas’s eyes flicked up to her.

“But… they can’t do anything with this, right?” He asked Sam. “We can’t hear what they’re saying. And technically, Dean did nothing wrong.”

Dean glanced at Cas gratefully.

“You’re right – there’s nothing illegal happening.” Sam crossed his arms. From the edge of the frame, Cas’s indistinct figure could be seen holding Dean back. Then the video ended. “The guy was yelling back at Dean, so he couldn’t even charge Dean with verbal assault. Since the video begins halfway through the fight, there’s no way of knowing for sure who started it.”

Dean straightened, running a hand over his lips. Sam’s words should have been comforting, but he still felt exposed.

“Still,” Sam went on, “Not the greatest kind of publicity for a high school teacher.”

Dean ran his hands through his hair. “Shit.”

“Don’t worry, though.” Sam said. “I got into contact with who posted it, and spewed some jargon about copyright and privacy laws. They took it down pretty fast.”

Dean dropped his hands, allowing himself a hard exhale. “Thanks, man.”

“Don’t mention it.” Sam clapped Dean gently on the shoulder. “But this… isn’t like you, Dean. At least not now. What the hell happened?”

Dean looked at Castiel, who was already watching him with tight blue eyes. He looked back at Sam. “The guy – he’s the dad of one of my students. One of the football players. He was giving the kid a rough time, so I stepped in.”

“I assure you it was completely called for.” Castiel put in. “If someone had been filming the father’s behaviour before Dean stepped in, they’d be calling CPS.”

Sam’s eyebrows shot up. “This sounds pretty serious.”

“I got it under control.” Dean said tightly. “You can’t just sic CPS on families, sometimes they do more harm than good. Michael’s a good kid. I’m keeping an eye on him.”

Sam searched Dean’s face for a long, tense minute. Dean knew exactly what was going through Sam’s mind – how Dean wasn’t exactly unbiased; how he maybe wasn’t the best role model for helping a kid get out of an abusive situation. That Dean was definitely too close to all of this.

But he didn’t say anything, just nodded shortly. “Alright. But if you need anything… you know where to find me.”

Dean swallowed thickly. “Yeah. I know.”

Things were quiet for a second, then Sarah said softly, “Come on, Dean. I got Lola’s stuff upstairs.”

Dean shot Cas a glance, and Cas gave him a short nod, so Dean followed Sarah down the hall and up the small staircase. Lola stuck right by his side, nipping playfully at his jeans.

“Thanks for looking after the mutt, Sarah.” Dean said, glancing around for any signs of puppy-induced destruction. “I was happy to have a night off.”

Sarah looked over her shoulder, a sly smile quirking at her lips. “You don’t say. So… you and Castiel?”

Dean felt a blush heat his cheeks, and he ducked his head. Lola’s toys were scattered around the upstairs hall, and Dean bent down to pick them up. Lola snapped at them in the process.

“Yeah. I guess so.” He tried to sound nonchalant, but his voice came out a little higher pitched than normal. Sarah didn’t miss it.

“You _guess_ so?” She demanded, folding one of Lola’s blankets and putting it in her bag. “God, you’ve both been pining for a month. It was painful to watch.”

Dean’s blush deepened. He peaked over at Sarah. “Were we that obvious?”

Sarah pursed her lips as she thought. “Only a little. I’m sure nobody else noticed.”

Dean let out a shaky breath. “That’s comforting.” He muttered.

Sarah watched him for a minute, leaning against a door jam. Lola settled at her feet. “Look, Dean… I know this kind of thing is hard for you. But I like Castiel, and I like you. I think you’ll be good for each other.”

Dean packed the last of Lola’s toys away, and he leaned against the wall across from Sarah. He nodded, but didn’t trust himself to say anything.

“All I’m trying to say is,” Sarah went on gently, “You don’t have to look so _terrified_ about it. You found a great guy, you like him, he likes you. That’s generally a good thing.”

Now, Dean allowed himself a short, shaky laugh. “Yeah. You’re right.”

“I know I am.” Sarah said brightly. She scratched Lola’s belly with her foot. “Now come on. You gotta get Lola out of here or I really am going to kidnap her.”

xXx

Sam led Cas back out into the hall, and then he turned to face him, his dark eyebrows furrowed.

“So,” He started, “That guy that came in at the end of the video – the one who held Dean back – that was you, right?”

Cas blinked, then nodded. “I was supervising at the other end of the bleachers. I saw things were getting heated, and thought it best to step in.”

“Well, thanks.” Sam said, sincerity glowing in his eyes. “Dean would have gotten in a lot of shit if he clocked that guy. And that’s the last thing my brother needs right now.”

Castiel searched Sam’s face for a moment. There was something brewing behind the younger Winchester’s eyes, and Cas could practically see the words struggling to form in his mind.

“I really appreciate that you called me the other week.” Sam began, his voice low and serious. “I do. Dean doesn’t get like that often, but when he does… it can get intense. So I’m glad you told me. But,” Sam paused, glancing over his shoulder in the direction of the stairs. “Dean didn’t have an easy life. I lucked out; I know that now. But he got the shit end of the stick, and he’s having a hard time bouncing back from that. He’s come a really long way, even if he’s having a hard time right now. I don’t think he can afford any more setbacks.”

Cas frowned a little at Sam. “I don’t think I understand…”

“I don’t know much about you.” An edge worked its way into Sam’s voice. “You seem like a really nice guy. I’m trusting Dean’s judgement, and Sarah’s. But if you’re just looking for a good time or something easy, then move on.”

Realization dawned on Cas, and he shook his head. “Sam, I…” He hesitated, trying to gather his thoughts, “You’re right, you don’t know me. But I don’t do _flings_ or whatever you think this might be. I care about Dean; a lot more than I’ve cared about someone in a very long time. I intend to do right by him. You have my word.”

Castiel’s voice was even and certain, and his blue eyes unwavering as he looked at Sam. Sam looked back, allowing the silence to swell a little before he nodded.

“Alright.” He said, and his muscles relaxed. “I mean, at the end of the day, Dean does what he wants. But I had to do the whole break-his-heart, I-break-your-neck speech.”

Sam offered a somewhat apologetic smile, and Castiel returned it. “It’s alright. I understand. And I assure you I won’t give you any reason to break my neck.”

Sam searched Cas’s sincere face, before nodding. Instantly, there was the sense of an understanding made. And empty or not, there was nothing intimidating about Sam’s threats. If anything, Cas found it somewhat relieving. At least he knew that Dean’s younger brother truly cared about him.

xXx

Dean and Sarah made their way down the stairs, Lola following close behind them. He found Sam and Cas near the front door, and Dean shot Cas a quick look. It was strange how they were already able to communicate through split-second glances and tiny changes in expression. Dean’s eyebrows twitched up, just slightly; it was a quick _everything good?_ And in reply, the corner of Cas’s mouth lifted just a little. _I’m good._

Dean and Cas weren’t the only ones, though, because Dean saw Sarah and Sam exchange a loaded look.

“Dean,” Sam said suddenly, “Before you go, could you take a look at the Honda? It’s been giving me some problems.”

Dean glanced at Cas and Sarah, before nodding at his brother. “Yeah, sure.”

Outside, the day had turned overcast and cold, but Dean didn’t really mind it. He preferred chilly weather to heat; it accommodated his need to dress in comforting layers. Sam’s old Honda Prelude was sitting in the driveway, and yellow leaves were plastered on the concrete around it. Sam and Dean walked over to it, while Sarah and Cas talked by the Impala.

“That was subtle, Sam.” Dean grumbled half-heartedly. Sam looked at him.

“What?”

“Is there _really_ something wrong with your car, or are you just trying to get me alone so you can grill me?” Dean raised an eyebrow at him. Sam couldn’t help a sheepish laugh.

“Both? There’s definitely something wrong with the car. It was just a good excuse to bring you out here.”

Dean sighed. “What’s wrong with the car?”

“I have no idea. She was in for a tune-up in the spring; but now she’s having trouble starting and the engine makes weird noises when we idle.”

Sam leaned against the driver’s door and Dean popped the hood. He busied himself with checking the oil and the belts of the engine, not caring when dark grease streaked across his hands.

“So what’s going on here, Dean?” Sam asked after a moment.

“Can you be more specific?” Dean asked, just to stall.

“You and Castiel.”

Dean waited a second before answering. He inspected the engine a little more closely, already aware of what was wrong. Then he straightened and looked at his brother.

“I don’t know, exactly.” He admitted. “I guess we’re… dating? It’s still pretty new.”

Sam searched his brother’s face. “You like him a lot, don’t you?”

Dean swallowed, looking down at his hands as he tried to brush the dust and grease off them. “Yeah. I do.”

“Good.” Sam said, his voice sincere. “That’s good, Dean. It’s about time you stopped punishing yourself; I want you to be happy.”

“Oh, come on.” Dean grimaced. “Don’t get all sappy on me.”

“Would you just listen?” Sam chuckled. Dean closed his mouth, but continued to glare at him. “I know this hard for you, especially after everything that’s happened. But I dunno, you seem… different today. You look better."

“How did I look before?” Dean challenged. Sam shrugged.

“Tired. Listless.”

“ _Listless?_ ”

“You know what I mean. You were kind of just… coasting. But you seem better now. Like you woke up, or something.”

Sam looked down at his boots, scuffing the concrete with his toe. Dean sighed, leaning against the car beside him and crossing his arms.

“I feel better.” Dean admitted quietly. “Most of that’s him. Though I think the mutt has something to do with it, too.”

Sam laughed softly. “I knew she was a good idea. So tell me… how did you guys start?”

Dean looked at Sam. “Who, me and Cas?”

“Yeah.” Sam smiled. “Come on, I wanna know.”

Dean blushed, but he bit his lip a little through a smile. “It’s not an exciting story or anything. I was just into him the minute I saw him – had a kind of gut feeling, y’know? And we’d talk a little, but then he found me that day in my classroom, and things sort of just went from there.”

Sam nodded, then grinned. “And correct me if I’m wrong, but I’m pretty sure Mr. Hot Teacher is wearing a pair of your jeans.”

Dean’s blush deepened, and he buried his face in his hands. “Oh God, Sam, stop.”

Sam laughed. “It’s just an observation.”

“He stayed at my place last night.” Dean explained. “But nothing happened.”

“Hey, whatever you say.” Sam was still grinning. “Is he a good kisser? Cause he looks like he would be.”

Dean groaned, and Sam laughed.

“Alright, I’m sorry.” He said, clapping Dean on the shoulder and composing himself. “But I’m glad you’re feeling better, man.”

“Yeah. Me too.”


	15. Secret Conversations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait on this chapter, but I just wrapped school up for the holidays so I should be able to focus more on writing and posting!
> 
> We learn a little bit more about Dean's not-so-pretty past in this chapter, and it ends on a little bit of a somber note. There's talk of past experiences that had dub-con undertones, so just be careful if that's a trigger for you. But things are definitely looking up for our boys now :)

_They all want you; when you’re shiny like a bar fly_

_Always buying the one guy who never says no._

_And I’m the one who sees you in the party;_

_People leave you and my heart breaks, watching it taking its toll._

_\- Lissie, “They All Want You”_

 

_ _

Dean tried to ignore the turning of his stomach. It had been just over two weeks since he’d fought with his mom, and he half expected her to shut the door in his face directly upon opening it. But Dean knew that wasn’t like Mary. Her silence was the result of Dean making it clear so many times before how he preferred space; she was operating by the rules that Dean himself had set down years ago.

He was starting to hate those rules.

Mary opened the door, and before Dean could say anything, she was pulling her son in for a hug. He couldn’t help it; he immediately crumpled into her, breathing in the perfume she’d been wearing since he was a kid, letting his chin rest lightly on her shoulder. Her arms were wrapped tightly around his neck.

“Oh, honey, I’m sorry.” Mary said softly. “I’m so sorry. I know I shouldn’t push you, but I just get so worried…”

“It’s okay, mom.” Dean said gruffly, taking a minute to blink the wetness from his eyes and swallow around the tightness in his throat, before he pulled away from her.

“No, it’s not okay.” Mary’s own eyes were shining with tears. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, but a few strands had come loose. Dean noticed a few wisps of grey mixed in with the blonde, and his heart ached. “You were right. I don’t know what you need, and it doesn’t help when I don’t listen to you.”

Dean just looked at her, not knowing what to say. His only instinct was to say _it’s okay_ again, because it was just so ingrained in him to brush people off when they gave him any credit or apologized.

“As much as I want to make you move back home,” Mary went on, “It won’t do any good unless you want that, too. So I’m sorry for trying to force that on you.”

Dean raised his eyebrows. “Jesus, Mom, where did all this come from?”

Mary shrugged sheepishly, her eyes still tight with emotion. “I’ve done a lot of thinking. Maybe watched too much Dr. Phil.”

Dean laughed weakly. “You think?”

Mary laughed a little too, but then her face turned somber again. “I mean it, though. You need to do what’s right for you. And I’ll support you with whatever that is. I just want you to be able to talk to me about it, okay?”

Dean nodded. “Yeah. Okay, mom.”

“Hey,” Mary’s voice turned firm, “I mean it. Don’t just brush this off. You can tell me anything. I’m your mom – I’m here to listen.”

Dean swallowed, and dammit, his eyes were prickling with tears again. But he couldn’t speak, so he just nodded, and Mary seemed to understand.

For the first time, that Sunday supper was different. Dean actually talked, joking with Sam and making Mary and Sarah laugh; he helped himself to seconds and tried not to notice how Mary’s eyes shone with happiness when he did. It felt comfortable and warm and familiar. He felt like there had been a weight lifted from him, ever since his mom had opened the door and hugged him, and the lightness was unfamiliar but he thought it was something he could get used to.

“Sam,” Mary looked at her younger son once dinner was finished, “Why don’t you help me with the dishes? Your brother is always doing it.”

“It’s alright.” Dean said quickly, grabbing his own plate and Sam’s, “I like doing the dishes.”

Sam raised his eyebrows at him. “Who _likes_ doing the dishes?”

Dean shrugged. “It’s relaxing.”

Sam studied Dean’s face for a minute, a hint of suspicion in his features. But then he said, “Knock yourself out.”

Dean didn’t meet his gaze as he gathered more dishes and took them to the kitchen. He’d never admit it, but doing the dishes had always been his and his mom’s thing. He liked the opportunity to just stand beside her for a while, the menial task of washing creating a sort of calm.

After so many years of living away from her, Dean had forgotten a lot about his mom – how to be around her, how to act. John’s military-style parenting had molded him into something akin to a soldier instead of a son, and there was often a kind of disconnect between Dean and Mary because of that. But moments like this – the house calm and quiet, no one else around to talk to them or watch them, and Dean felt himself relax into the person Mary had helped him be, despite John’s mistakes.

Now, Mary let Dean wash the dishes as she dried and put them up in the cupboards. The soapy water was warm and soothing on his hands, and Dean let the easy silence wash over him.

After a while, Mary asked quietly, “So, what brought on this change?”

Dean’s muscles tensed, but he glanced at Mary calmly. “What do you mean?”

“You.” Mary set a coffee cup in the cupboard above her. “You have more colour in your face; your eyes are brighter. You’re more talkative. You’re still thin, but at last you’re eating again.”

Dean focused on the plate in his hands. “Just had a good week, I guess.”

“Dean, you’ve been struggling ever since John died. You can’t just suddenly have a good week.”

Dean pursed his lips, but didn’t answer. Mary let the silence go on for a few seconds before she asked quietly, “Are you on medication again?”

“No.” Dean said automatically.

“There’s nothing wrong with it – I know it helped last time, and actually, I was going to suggest-”

“I don’t wanna go on meds again.” Dean muttered, though there was a note of resignation to his voice. “I don’t wanna go back to therapy, either.”

“I know you don’t, hon. But if it’ll help…”

“I’ll think about it. Okay?” Dean peaked up at her, and she nodded. She took the plate from him and began drying it.

“So if it’s not meds… what is it?” She pressed gently.

Dean’s jaw tensed, and the phrase _here goes nothing_ ran through his mind before he said, “I met someone.”

His voice was quiet, almost a whisper. Mary’s eyes snapped up to his, and she froze in the middle of putting the plate up in the cupboard.

“You met someone?” She asked, a grin slowly lighting her face, though it was obvious she was trying to hold it in.

Dean nodded, feeling a blush creep up the back of his neck. _This is not a big deal,_ he told himself firmly. _You don’t have to get into the specifics._

“When?”

He shrugged. “About a month ago?”

“And you didn’t _tell_ me?” Her eyes went wide, the grin spreading bigger. _Oh fuck, this was a bad idea._

“There was nothing to tell. We sort of had a slow start.” Dean tried to keep his voice calm and casual sounding, and utterly failed.

“Well, what’s her name?” Mary asked, and Dean’s stomach dropped to his feet. His entire body tensed up, and he looked over at his mom. She was watching him, eyes bright and expectant, and Dean’s blood only ran colder. He felt his breathing pick up, but he tried hard to steady it. His hands stopped washing, and he reached for a towel and began slowly wiping the water off his hands. He kept his eyes on the movement as he said lowly,

“It’s not a her. It’s a… it’s a him.” God, the words sounded even more terrifying, hanging out there in the air in front of him. Heart pounding, he peaked up at his mom.

Mary’s face softened, and she brought both hands up to cradle Dean’s face. “Oh, Dean, honey,” She said softly, pulling him in and wrapping her arms around him. She let out a shaky, relieved laugh. “That’s okay! You know I don’t care about that. What I care about is if you’re _happy._ ”

Dean took a shuddering breath, wrapping his arms around his mom for a second time in one night and letting his forehead rest on her shoulder.

“I know.” He said shakily. “But. Still…”

“I know.” Mary replied softly. “I know, babe.”

Dean let the relief run through him, making him shaky and weak, as Mary hugged him for a few more moments. Then she pulled away, swiping at the tears on her cheeks.

“So. What’s his name?”

Dean’s blushed deeper, but he couldn’t help the smile twitching at his lips. “Castiel.”

Mary’s eyebrows shot up. “Fancy. And? Where’d you meet, what’s he like?”

Dean tried not to cringe. This was _way_ outside his comfort zone. “He teaches at the school. But, don’t get all weird about it, okay? It’s just… it’s really new. We’re kind of just taking it day by day."

“Okay, okay.” Mary relented, still smiling. “I can take a hint. I’ll hold off on the 21 questions.”

Dean felt his shoulders relax. He smiled weakly at her. “Thanks.”

Mary smiled. “But… you really like him, don’t you? I can see it on your face, when you talk about him.”

Dean let a smile tug at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, I do. He’s great, mom.”

“Well, good.” Mary said firmly. “But when this gets around to the not-so day-by-day phase, you better be bringing this boy around the house. I want to meet him.”

Dean cringed inwardly, but he knew better than to argue. “Yes, ma’am.”

xXx

Dean wasn’t entirely certain why, suddenly, all of this felt okay. Something had happened, between the time he’d collapsed into himself in the shower, and when he’d woken up the next morning with Castiel in his bed. He’d had plenty of occasions where people – Sam, Dr. Mosely – had talked him down from the ledge, or cleaned up the mess after he’d toppled over it. But he’d never had someone pull him back before he even reached that point. He remembered how badly he’d been shaking; how the ghost of his various injuries had prickled at his skin and he remembered thinking that the attack that was coming would surely be one of the worst he’s ever had.

How he’d woken the next morning – calm, _content_ even – should have been impossible. And yet it had happened; _Cas_ had happened, and somewhere between the smell of pancakes and lazy morning kisses he’d started thinking _this is nice._ And what a foreign thought that was, despite how simple. Dean couldn’t remember the last time he’d thought that in regards to his own life, but he felt it timidly now. The early morning light, the reassuring warmth of a body – not just anyone’s body, but Cas’s body – under the blankets beside his; the static quiet of the apartment in the morning, the thought of a day off being reassuring instead of panic inducing… it was _nice._

Dean didn’t want to collapse into himself anymore. Before, there had been a kind of comfort in it; because while he didn’t like doing it, it was at least something he did _well,_ and that in itself was rewarding. Now, he wasn’t so sure.

He wasn’t sure of a lot of things. But what he _was_ sure of, was that he definitely didn’t mind when Cas sneaked into his classroom that Monday morning and shut the door, clicking the lock before resting against it. Dean looked over at him from where he stood before the blackboard, chalk still poised in his hand.

“You know the first bell rings in twenty minutes, right?” He asked, though the statement held more of a challenge than anything. Cas was wearing an expensive-looking black sweater, the collar of a white shirt and a tie peeking out from underneath. Dean couldn’t help how his eyes dragged down his body, from the line of his neck to his tapered waist, his tongue swiping across his lips subconsciously as he did so. Castiel grinned.

“Don’t worry,” Cas said, closing the distance between him and Dean, “I pride myself on being efficient.”

Cas wrapped his hand around the tie dangling from Dean’s neck and pulled him in, slotting their mouths together. Panic shot up Dean’s spine as his mind flashed to the hundreds of people he knew lingered on the other side of that closed door, but for once that panic turned to excitement, lighting a fire in his gut that had him kissing Cas back harder.

Cas put his hands on Dean’s hips and moved him backward, until Dean’s back hit the wall.

“You’re sort of pushy, you know that?” Dean breathed against Cas’s lips.

“I’ve been told.” Cas replied dryly, slotting his thigh between Dean’s legs and grinding down. Dean groaned, then bit his lip, his eyes darting to the door.

Cas caught his lips again, his tongue licking into Dean’s mouth and making his cock twitch with _definite_ interest. Dean reached out and planted his palms on Cas’s chest, meaning to push him away but instead his hands grabbed onto the fabric of his sweater and pulled him in closer.

Dean’s breathing picked up, and his senses were filled with the smell of Cas: aftershave and coffee and the frosty air from outside. One of his hands moved up and tangled in Cas’s hair, grabbing on almost possessively, and a low groan escaped from Cas’s throat.

“Do you know how hard it’s been,” Cas breathed, his voice husky and low, “Watching you all this time and not being able to touch you?”

Cas punctuated this statement by a slow, undulating roll of his hips.

“ _Fuck,_ Cas.” Dean was completely hard and aching now. He arched his back into Cas, seeking more friction. Cas dipped his head and mouthed at the pulse point beneath Dean’s ear. Dean’s mouth dropped open, spots of pleasure prickling behind his closed eyelids.

“Cas…” He breathed again, though his voice was growing steadily shakier. “You gotta stop. If you make me come in my pants five minutes before class, I’m gunna be pissed.”

Cas chuckled softly, and he loosened his hold a little, though he didn’t back off completely. Dean kissed him, his lips surprisingly slow and gentle. When they parted, Dean flexed his jaw, trying to will down the erection that was still straining at his pants.

“Sorry,” Cas said sheepishly, “It’s just, now that I get to kiss you… I want to do it all the time.”

Dean blushed, and his lip quirked up in a smile. “Hey, I’m not complaining. It’s just… I’d rather one of my students _not_ walk in on us playing tonsil hockey in my classroom.”

Cas looked down at where his hands still gently gripped Dean’s waist. “So… are we hiding this from the kids, or… other people, too?”

Dean stiffened. “Well, I’m okay with Sarah knowing, and Charlie and Benny. But… I’m not sure I’m ready for everyone else to know yet.”

Dean couldn’t help the guilt he felt when he said this. He still found it hard to believe he was actually attempting to have a relationship with a guy at all, and coming out to practically the whole school on top of that almost sent his mind into a tailspin. Keeping it quiet made sense to him, but he was afraid Cas wouldn’t see it that way. He peaked up at him, expecting to see mistrust or maybe hurt in Cas’s eyes, but those blue depths were patient and kind.

“Okay.” He said easily, and right away, Dean felt relief rush through him.

“But, uh…” Dean hesitated, clearing his throat a little before looking sheepishly at Cas. “My mom knows.”

Cas tilted his head at Dean, and a wide grin split his face. “You told your mom about me?”

Dean grimaced and gave him a playful shove to the shoulder. “Shut up. It’s not a big deal.”

Cas pressed his lips together, trying for serious, but there were still lights in his eyes. “Of course.”

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door, and Cas and Dean startled away from each other. Dean shot him a look and took a steadying breath as he walked to the door, unlocked and opened it.

On the other side stood Michael, uniform in place and backpack slung over his shoulder. Dean gave the kid a sweeping glance, and was relieved when he picked out no obvious bruises or scrapes. Michael looked up at Dean, and then to Cas behind him.

“Sorry,” He said, “I wasn’t sure if you were busy or not.”

“No, no.” Dean said, probably too quickly. “Not busy. We were just, uh… he was just leaving.”

Cas raised an eyebrow at Dean’s obvious blustering, though he managed not to smile as he walked out into the hallway. He nodded at Dean politely. “Right. Thank you for the talk, Mr. Winchester."

Dean glared at Cas’s obviously put-on voice, but Cas just winked at him from behind Michael before disappearing down the hall. Dean fought an eye roll, then looked down at Michael.

“Come on in.” He gestured into his room, and Michael stepped in.

“What’s up?” Dean asked, closing the door behind him. Michael stood awkwardly at the front of the room, one hand white-knuckling the strap of his backpack. Uneasiness worked its way into Dean’s gut, but he tried to look reassuring.

“It’s about last Friday.” He said. The uneasiness made its way up the back of Dean’s throat.

“Look, I’m sorry if I stepped out of line.” Dean said sincerely. “I didn’t mean to create a scene or anything –”

“Thank you.” Michael cut in, his small voice suddenly steady and certain. Dean blinked. “Nobody’s ever… stood up for me before. Not ever.”

An aching tightness worked its way into Dean’s throat. “Your dad always treat you like that?” He asked, his voice rasping a little. Michael nodded.

“He’s not… a nice guy.” Michael said slowly, and now his calm began to break. Dean could see how his hands had started shaking. “I used to think things would get better, but he’s just getting worse. And you said… you said that I could come talk to you.”

Frightened hope quivered in Dean’s chest, and he nodded. “That offer still stands. You wanna talk about it?”

Michael’s shoulders relaxed a little, but the movement just seemed to make him look smaller. He looked down at his feet. “Not really.”

Dean gave a small breath and crossed his arms. He knew it wasn’t that Michael didn’t want to talk – he just didn’t know where to start.

“You got a mom at home?” He asked. “Step-mom?”

Michael shook his head, still looking at his feet. “My mom died when I was little. My dad never… there was never anybody else.”

“Any other relatives? Grandparents, aunts?”

Michael shook his head. “None that I know of. It’s always been just us.”

Dean’s stomach drooped in sympathy. He took a breath. “Look, Michael, are you in serious trouble? Cause – you gotta tell someone. There are people that can help you – ”

Michael shook his head as his eyes widened with fear. “No. They’ll split us up, it happened to a friend of mine freshmen year, and I can’t let that happen to us – ”

“Sounds like you might be better off without your dad, Michael.” Dean tried to reason with him softly.

“I mean my little brother.” Michael explained. “He’s only ten, he’s just a kid. I’m all he’s got.”

Dean felt his defenses crumble. Of all the arguments he’d saved in his mind for this conversation, they all fell flat now. Because he couldn’t argue with that.

“What’s your brother’s name?” He asked instead. Michael swallowed before answering quietly,

“Asher.”

Dean nodded and let the silence stretch between them a little. Then he said, “I’ll tell you what. I’ll look into it – about you sticking with your brother. I can make some calls, talk to Ava, and see what your options are. We’ll figure it out.”

Michael began to panic. “But what if Ava calls the cops? Or Child Protective Services? If my dad finds out that I talked to anybody about this, he’s gunna kill me – ”

“Hey, hey.” Dean guided Michael to a desk and Michael sat down, letting his backpack slump to the ground as his hands started shaking in earnest. Dean sat at the desk across from him. “Just breathe. It’s gunna be okay.”

Michael shook his head. “I don’t think so.” His voice was trembling. “I don’t have any options. Even if I manage to get into college next year, what’s gunna happen to Asher? I can’t leave him there by himself. But I can’t put him into the system, Mr. Winchester, I can’t – I won’t let that happen to him.”

“I know, I know.” Dean said, watching Michael with his heart in his throat. The kid dropped his head into his hands, his breath rattling. “Look, this is a shitty situation. But you _have_ options. You’re not trapped.”

Michael scoffed. “Says you. You have no idea what I have to live with.”

Dean swallowed thickly, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “Oh, I’ve got a pretty good idea. Trust me.”

Michael dropped his hands and looked up at Dean, but his face was still wary. Dean took a breath and went on.

“My dad wasn’t a nice guy, either. I mean, maybe he had been, at one point. But, you know, he went to Iraq when I was just a kid, and when he came back he just wasn’t the same.”

Michael was watching him with grave eyes. Distantly, the commotion of the school trundled on, but neither of them was aware of it. “What happened then?”

Dean shrugged despite the pain in his chest. “He and my mom split up. And I dunno – guess I thought he was lonely, or I felt sorry for him. So I moved in with him instead.”

Michael looked at him expectantly.

“It started out small. He always had a short fuse when he drank, but he didn’t drink often at first. You know how it snowballs. He had a lot of pent-up anger from the war, and he took it out on me. But I had a lot of friends who went through foster care and group homes; heard a lot of horror stories. So I never said a damn word about it.”

“Yeah, but you turned out fine.”

“No, Michael, I didn’t.” Dean’s eyes widened a little, his heart hammering as he tried to get his point across. “Sure, I’m an okay teacher, but the truth is I got a lot of shit in my life that’s fucked up because of my dad. And you bet your ass that some nights I lie awake and wonder if things would have been better if I’d have just gotten the hell out.”

Michael’s jaw was tensed, a storm of anger brewing in his eyes. “It’s not that easy.”

“I know it’s not. But you can’t stay with your dad, Michael.”

“And I can’t be separated from Asher.” Michael argued. “So I’m not seeing a whole lot of options for me.”

“We’ll find some.” Dean said firmly. “But you gotta trust me. I’m not gunna sic CPS on you guys, and I won’t mention names unless you say it’s all right. Just… let me ask around. See what I can figure out. But on one condition.”

Michael leaned back, distrust flashing across his face. “What?”

“If things get really bad for you guys – if you think you or your brother are in immediate danger, call somebody and get out.” Dean’s voice was dead serious. “I mean it. You still have Sam’s number?”

Michael nodded.

“Good. You can call him. He’ll give you guys a place to stay if you need it; food – anything. You can trust him.”

Michael nodded again. “Okay.”

Dean fell quiet then. His heart was still hammering away, but his muscles had slowly started to relax. He didn’t really have any idea what other options Michael might have, but there was a strange humming happening in his gut – a hum of purpose. Michael’s terrified expression slowly melted into something like hope.

After Michael left, Dean sat at his desk as his first period class filed in, trying to get his own hands to stop shaking. To keep himself busy, he opened his desk drawer and began rummaging through, digging around for the business card he knew he’d find there.

He’d stashed it there a few years ago, and for the first time he was thankful he wasn’t the type of teacher who completely cleaned out their desk every summer.

The first bell rang just as he closed his fingers around the frail paper. Breath hitching a little, he placed the card on his desk, telling himself he’d call during his break.

Throughout his next class, his eyes kept darting over to that card, picking out the words printed on the front: _Dr. Missouri Mosely, Psychiatrist_.

xXx

Cas vaguely remembered, once when he was about eight or nine, how he and Gabriel had brought a stray cat home. His mother had immediately chased the thing out, ranting about unspeakable diseases and dirt being tracked through the house. Cas’s family home was a fortress. There wasn’t space for animals that knocked things over and shed their hair and didn’t clean up after themselves. Nobody seemed to really mind except for Castiel and Gabriel. But while Gabe lashed out by trying to sneak miscellaneous creatures in every once in a while, Castiel just kept his mouth shut.

This is why he didn’t really mind that he was spending his Wednesday night with his arms full of a very disgruntled puppy, her snarls rumbling through her tiny rib cage and into Cas’s hands.

“Dammit, Lola, stay still.” Dean growled, his brow creased in concentration. He held Lola’s front paw firmly in his hands, where a long, bloody gash was sliced through the perfect fur.

“Shh, baby, it’s okay,” Cas crooned, his thumb stroking reassuringly where he held Lola firmly around the middle. Dean looked up at him, cocking an eyebrow, but Lola’s angry whines quieted a little. Cas smirked at him in vindication.

“Of all the shit she can wreck in this place, she goes after the glass TV stand.” Dean griped, dabbing delicately at the gash with a wet cloth.

“Dean, she’s fine. She’s hardly bleeding.” Cas tried to comfort him, but Dean’s muscles were tight with stress. “You just need to… puppy-proof the place a little more.”

“Puppy-proof? Cas, she’s not a toddler.”

Cas scoffed a little. “She might as well be.” He intoned, and as if to prove his statement, Lola gave a low growl and opened her jaws around Dean’s hand, though she didn’t bite down. Once he was certain he’d gotten all the glass out of the cut, Dean wrapped Lola’s arm in gauze and bright pink vet wrap. Cas raised an eyebrow at it, and looked at Dean.

“Shut up.” Dean said. “I didn’t pick the colour. It came with the First Aid Kit, okay?”

“I didn’t say anything.” Cas tried not to smile.

“You were thinking it.” Dean grumbled half-heartedly. He double-checked to make sure the vet wrap wouldn’t slip, and then he ruffled Lola’s ears. “There you go, kiddo. All fixed up.”

Cas released the dog and Lola bounded away, immediately settling down on the living room floor and gnawing at the bandage with her teeth. Dean and Cas watched her.

“That’ll last long.” Dean muttered, and Cas chuckled. Cas couldn’t help himself. He knew Dean to be a lot of things: stubborn, smart, compassionate, sensual, isolated, angry. But now, he was starting to realize that Dean was… _cute._ The line that appeared in his forehead when he was grumpy, the little laugh he gave whenever Charlie made an in-joke that went over Castiel’s head, his obvious embarrassment at actually caring about his dog. He was cute.

Cas reached over and took Dean’s chin in his hand, turning his head so that those green eyes looked up into his. For a second, Cas had the intention of saying something, but the words were lost before they even occurred to him. So he just leaned forward, pulling Dean in gently, and covered Dean’s mouth with his own.

Dean’s breath came in a rush. Cas’s mouth dropped open, and Dean’s tongue swiped past his lips as his hands came up to frame Cas’s face. Heat immediately flooded Cas’s system and curled around his spine; he dropped Dean’s chin and gently pushed him back, until Dean was sprawled out on the kitchen floor and Cas was hovering above him. 

Dean’s hands travelled down, brushing past Cas’s chest and stomach and coming to rest on his hips. His fingers curled around the bones there and pulled him closer, until their hips were flush together. Cas could feel Dean’s erection straining at his jeans, and he groaned, taking Dean’s bottom lip gently between his teeth as he ground down.

A shiver wracked its way up Dean’s spine; Cas could feel it ripple through him, and the heat in his stomach sparked into a fire. He wanted to feel every movement Dean’s body made; he wanted to be close enough to soak up the heat coming from his body. Cas kissed him deeper, and Dean’s breathing picked up.

Leaning on one hand, Cas let his other trail down Dean’s side until he reached the waist of his jeans. He dipped his fingers beneath the fabric experimentally and Dean arched up into him, so Cas moved his hand and began working at the button. Dean slipped his hands beneath Cas’s shirt and dug his nails into the skin above his ribs. Cas gasped softly, and the button on Dean’s pants finally came undone. The drag of the zipper was obscenely loud in the quiet of the kitchen, and then Cas was slipping his hand beneath Dean’s boxer briefs, palming his cock.

Dean’s hips bucked up, but Cas’s body was sturdy and bracketed him in, pinning him to the floor. Dean’s fingers dug into Cas’s skin deeper.

“Cas,” He breathed, a soft plea, and Cas’s grip tightened as he began to stroke slowly. “ _Fuck_.”

Dean’s breath quickened, and Cas moved his lips down across Dean’s jaw and to his throat. He felt the rough stubble growing there, scraping gently across his own as he pressed open-mouth kisses to Dean’s skin. Dean shifted his hips up into Cas’s fist and Cas pressed his body back down into him, his strong muscles unyielding.

Dean let out a low moan, but after a moment his body tensed and his breathing spiked. Roughly, his palms spread across Cas’s stomach and he began to push against him.

“Cas, wait,” He rasped. Cas immediately backed off, pulling his hand out of Dean’s pants and lifting himself up to look at him. Dean’s green eyes were wide and his face was flushed, his lips bruised pink from kissing. His breathing was quick; too quick for the pace Cas had been setting.

“What is it? Was that not okay?”

Dean shook his head, lifting a trembling hand and raking it through his hair. “No, no that was… that was okay."

Cas tilted his head as worry spiked in his system. “Then what is it?”

Dean just took a minute to catch his breath, his hands dropping at his sides and resting on the tile kitchen floor. He wouldn’t look at Cas, just focused on some point over his shoulder as he focused on pushing air in and out of his lungs.

“Dean,” Cas said quietly, “Talk to me. You have to tell me if I did something wrong.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong.” Dean closed his eyes. Cas pushed himself up and sat on the ground beside Dean, crossing his legs beneath him. He watched Dean patiently. “I just…”

Dean licked his lips then fell quiet. Cas frowned.

“What?”

“Nothing.” Dean muttered, opening his eyes and pushing himself up, buttoning his pants as he did. Then he ran his hands through his hair again, not meeting Cas’s gaze.

“It’s not nothing.” Cas’s voice was firm but coaxing. Dean looked down at his hands.

“You know I have bad memories.” Dean said quietly. Cas nodded, though he wanted to say _about things you haven’t told me about._ “Well, sometimes… a person will do something, and it reminds me of a bad memory. And it freaks me out.”

“You mean like a trigger?” Cas asked, and Dean squeezed his eyes shut again.

“Yeah. A trigger.”

“Did I do something triggering?” Cas’s voice was laden with remorse and concern. Dean finally made himself peak up at him, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

“It wasn’t that bad. Just… I felt kinda pinned and trapped for a second there.” Dean admitted quietly, looking back down at his hands.

“Okay.” Cas’s chest was aching with worry, but he forced his voice to remain calm. “Anything else?”

Dean’s jaw flexed as he glanced at the tile beneath him. “The floor... the hard surface kinda freaked me out.”

“So no floors, and more breathing room.” Cas said softly, easily. “I can do that. Is there anything else?”

Dean wouldn’t look up at him. He shook his head.

“Hey,” Cas whispered, cupping Dean’s chin again and lifting his head. Dean was still looking down, but Cas waited and after a moment his green eyes flicked up. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know. I’m glad you told me – I want you to feel safe with me.”

Dean let out a breath, and the corner of his mouth lifted a little. “I don’t think I ever feel safe.”

Cas leaned forward and brushed a soft, chaste kiss to Dean’s lips. “I’ll fix that, too.”

Cas let his forehead touch Dean’s, and for a second they just sat there. But Cas’s heart was hammering with pain for Dean; even though he knew it wasn’t his fault, guilt was running rampant through his system. All he wanted to do was make Dean feel good, and safe, but he was beginning to consider he might not have the faintest idea how to do that.

“Dean, these bad memories,” Cas whispered, “I wish you’d tell me about them.”

Dean leaned back to look at Cas. “Why?”

“Because then I would know how to help you.”

Dean gave a rough sigh. “I’m not used to talking to people, Cas. I’m not all that good at it; it’s like I forgot how.”

“I know.” Cas said quietly, his brow creasing as he watched Dean. “But I’d love it if you’d try. It’s very unnerving, knowing you have trauma that could be set off by a certain way I touch you or handle you. I don’t want to hurt you again.”

Dean was quiet, looking closely at his hands. “I…” He said quietly, “It’s just that, most of my experiences with other guys have been… I don’t know. They weren’t fun.”

Cas’s heart tightened and he frowned. “Do you mean they weren’t consensual?”

“I don’t know, sort of?” Dean grimaced. “I wouldn’t have done it if I didn’t have to. I… I _worked_ when I was in college.”

Cas blinked. “Worked?”

Dean cocked an eyebrow at him, and after a second, it clicked.

“Oh.”  

“Yeah.” Dean’s voice made the word small and flat. A humiliated blush heated his cheeks. “I didn’t want to; hell, I didn’t really mean to. It’s not like I was out walking the streets or anything, it just sort of happened. There was this club, it was sorta known around campus that it’s where guys went to… you know. And I could hardly afford to go to college, let alone feed myself. My dad didn’t have any money, and I refused to go to my mom. And the job paid well.” Dean shrugged. Cas looked at him sadly.

“Anyways, it’s just, it wasn’t a great time or anything; it’s not like the guys you pick up in bars are particularly considerate. Got roughed up a few times, I did shit I didn’t really want to. It came with the territory.” Dean refused to meet Cas’s gaze. “Don’t worry, I was always careful and I got tested.”

Cas tilted his head at him. “Dean, you know I’m not worried about that. This sounds like it was very harmful to you. It would be to anyone.”

Dean’s shoulders were stooped, like he was trying to make himself smaller. “Yeah. Well… I don’t always know what will set me off.”

“That’s alright. Just tell me when something does. It’s not my intention to hurt you; I want you to feel good.”

Dean gave a shaky breath. “I know.”

“So hard floors and being pinned down are both no’s.” Cas said, “Anything else you can think of?”

Dean’s blush deepened, but he gave a moment’s thought anyways. “Being pinned down can be okay, I just have to…work up to it.” He said slowly. “I really don’t like being called bitch or whore, though.”

Cas smiled thinly. “Fair enough. What about biting or marking?”

“They’re okay.” Dean nodded timidly. He looked up at Cas. “You know, I’m giving you an out. Not everybody wants to date someone who was practically a hooker at one point in their lives.”

“I don’t want an out.” Cas frowned. “And I’d hardly qualify what you did as ‘hooking’. You were doing what you felt you had to. If anyone can understand that, it’s me.”

Dean considered this. “Still, you didn’t sleep with guys for money.”

“I used to beat the shit out of guys for my family.” Cas shrugged. “It was the only way I could get them off my back about not killing people.”

Dean was quiet as he processed this information. Then Cas asked quietly,

“So… have you ever been with a guy _outside_ of those circumstances? Or is that solely your experience with other men?”

Dean winced.

“Just that one guy I told you about, and that was before I started doing that shit. Things with him ended pretty terribly, and I was angry about who I was, so when the opportunity came up to at least make money off of it, I went for it.” Dean’s voice was low and hard. He looked up at Cas, and Cas knew his face looked wrecked and sad, but he didn’t know how else to feel. His heart ached.

“Don’t look at me like that.” Dean grimaced.

“Like what?”

“Like you pity the fuck out of me.”

“I don’t pity you.” Cas told himself that was at least half-true. “It’s just… all my own memories of being with other men are quite pleasant. It saddens me that that’s not the case for you.”

“Yeah, well, life’s a bitch.” Dean’s eyes were growing more distant, and Cas knew he was shutting down. This conversation would have been a lot for anyone, but it had to be especially exhausting for Dean.

“We can stop talking about this, if you like.” Cas said quietly. Dean swallowed.

“Okay. Thanks.” Dean’s muscles relaxed, just a little. “It’s not that I don’t want you to know. I just hate having to say it all out loud, you know?”

“I know.” Cas reached out and gently swiped his thumb across Dean’s cheek. Dean’s jaw tensed, but then he closed his eyes and leaned into his hand. Cas leaned forward and brushed a kiss to his lips. “When you’re ready, we’ll make new memories. Better ones.”

Dean whispered, “Okay.”


	16. Debts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanna say that you guys are the best, your awesome comments and kudos keep me going!! 
> 
> I plan on updating more often over the next few days, so that we get to the holiday parts of the story before the holidays are over in real life. Thanks guys for all your patience! Have some smut at the end of the chapter by way of thanks :) 
> 
> If you want some sexy music to go with it, I recommend Jaymes Young's cover of "What Is Love" 
> 
> Enjoy!

Dean couldn’t remember the last time he’d been at the Lawrence Public Library. He figured it had probably been some time during high school, when he’d gone there under the pretense of researching something for a school project (Google and Wikipedia weren’t really things back then). He remembered that research being abandoned in favour of fooling around with Cassie behind the tall bookshelves near the back corner.

Now, the books balanced in his arms all had long, complicated titles, pertaining in some way to fostering kids and understanding child protection laws. Dean glanced at his watch, seeing that his free period would be over in twenty minutes, which meant he had to get back to the school soon.

His phone started vibrating, and Dean shifted the books to one hand before pulling his cell out of his pocket. The name on the screen said “Cas”, and his heart leapt as he swiped the screen and held it to his ear.

“Hey, Cas.” He said, stuffing one book back on the shelf.

“Is there any chance you would let me take you out on a date?” Cas got straight to the point. Dean almost dropped his books.

“I thought we were already dating. Technically.” He said, glancing around the library to make sure no one was overhearing. Not that it would matter either way.

“Of course, but going on dates is usually a part of that.” Cas clarified.

“You couldn’t have asked me this when I got back to school?”

“It only occurred to me now.” Cas replied. “I didn’t want to wait.”

Dean chuckled, then sighed. “I dunno, Cas. I don’t really like dates. They make me feel weird.”

“Why?” Cas didn’t sound put-off, but more like he’d been expecting this reaction. 

“I dunno, it’s like being interviewed.” Dean muttered sheepishly. Cas chuckled.

“You’re an enigma, Dean Winchester."

“Yeah, I could say the same about you.” Dean teased, walking through the shelves and toward the checkout desk. “Why do we have to go on a date anyways?”

“Because you obviously have never been on a good one, and I’d like to rectify that.” Cas answered easily. Dean rolled his eyes, but smiled politely at the librarian as he passed her his books and library card.

“It wouldn’t be anything ostentatious.” Cas went on. “We’d just go to a movie, or something. Friday night? We could go with Charlie and Benny if it’d make you feel better.”

Dean was quiet as he considered this. “So it would be like hanging out, then. Not really a date.”

“Exactly.” Cas agreed. Dean bit his lip.

“Alright, Novak. You got a deal.” Dean took his books from the librarian and headed for the door. “But if you bring me flowers, I’m out.”

Cas laughed softly. “Understood.”

xXx 

Kansas was truly starting to get cold, now. It wasn’t an overly snowy state – they’d get maybe a few snowfalls throughout the winter – but the air was still chilled and tinged with frost, nipping at Dean’s bare fingers as he twirled the Impala’s keys in his hand. Sam closed the passenger door and the two of them walked toward the large, imposing façade of Whole Foods.

“I can’t believe you talked me into going to your freaky, hippie grocery store.” Dean glared at it. “I mean, what do you people have against gluten?”

“Do you even know what gluten is?” Sam raised an eyebrow at him.

“I know that it belongs in food.” Dean retorted. “You realize this store is a scam, right? They just slap stickers that say ‘organic’ on everything and jack up the price by five dollars.”

“Why’d you come along, then?” Sam shot his brother a dubious glance as he grabbed a cart near the sliding doors.

“And let you borrow my baby without supervision? Fat chance.” Dean scoffed.

Sam rolled his eyes. “Benny says the Mazda will be up and running again by the weekend. You won’t have to be my chauffeur for much longer.”

Dean shrugged, his grouchy teasing falling away. “Forget it. I needed someone to drag my ass out for groceries anyways.”

Dean looked around the store warily. Not counting five-minute trips that involved stocking up on coffee grounds and beer, he figured the last time he’d been on an actual grocery run was in… August? July?

“Speaking of the Impala,” Sam said, steering the cart to the bakery section, “What’s with the library books I saw in the back seat? You thinking of becoming a social worker?”

Dean snorted. “That’d be the day. No, I’m just looking into some stuff for that kid at school. I actually meant to talk to you about that.”

Sam’s eyebrows shot up. “Okay. What’s up?”

“How much do you know about child protection laws?”

Sam frowned as he thought. “Not much, but a little. Our firm mostly deals with white-collar crime – tax evasion, insurance fraud. What do you want to know?”

Dean threw a loaf of bread in the cart, then raked his hands through his hair. “This kid, he wants to get out of his dad’s house, but he doesn’t want to be split up from his kid brother. Is there a way they’d be kept together?”

“Does he have any relatives?”

Dean shook his head. “He said it’s just them and the old man.”

Sam bit his lip. “The most Child Protective Services can do is say they’ll do their best to keep the boys together, but they can’t make guarantees.”

“What are their chances?”

“How old are they?”

“Seventeen and ten, I think.”

Sam pursed his lips. “Not good. Not a lot of people want to take in a seventeen-year-old, but a ten-year-old would be a lot easier to place. They’d more than likely be split up. Younger one to foster care, the older one to a group home.”

Dean cursed softly under his breath, distractedly throwing things into the cart. He wasn’t sure what he exactly needed to buy, but he was hazarding a guess at _everything._

“What if…” He began, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he thought, “What if there was someone who _applied_ to take them in? Both of them?”

Sam was quiet as he considered this. “That might work. But they’d have to go through a shitload of clearance first. And the kids would more than likely be in CPS’s care until that happened.”

Dean sighed in frustration. “Are there any other options?”

Sam shrugged. “Emancipation. If the older kid were emancipated, he’d be the legal guardian of his brother. But then, he’d have no protection from his dad, and he’d essentially be a father at seventeen years old.”

Dean shook his head. “That won’t work. He needs to go to college, have his own life.”

Sam nodded. “That would be your last resort, then.”

Dean was quiet, brow furrowing as he looked over the bakery’s selection of pies. He ended up passing them by, telling himself he could bake a pie better than Sam’s precious Whole Foods could.

“Dean,” Sam said cautiously, “I hate to ask this, but… is it really that bad? What this kid’s living with?”

Dean’s eyes snapped up to Sam’s. “I saw the bruises, Sam. You know how hard a grip has to be to make marks that goddamn purple?”

Sam paled and looked properly shameful. “I’m sorry. It’s just, I hate seeing you worry like this; I wanted to make sure you’re not letting it get built up in your head.”

Dean leveled Sam with an icy glare. “You have no idea how hard I tried to convince myself I shouldn’t get involved. You don’t think I know I’m too close to this, to what this kid’s going through?”

Dean’s voice was starting to get louder, and a few passing shoppers glanced at him warily.

“I know, I know.” Sam said quietly. “But I had to ask, okay? Dean, I’m with you on this. I’m in your corner.”

“Good.” Dean lowered his voice again, turning down the next aisle. “Cause I gave the kid your number.”

Sam blinked. “Me?”

Dean looked around. “Who else would I be talking to?”

“Why would you give him my number?”

“Because if I gave him mine, the education board would freak.” Dean picked up a box of crackers and chucked them in the cart. “And the kid needed a safety net – somewhere to go in case shit hits the fan while I figure this out. What, is that not okay?”

“No, it’s okay.” Sam said hurriedly. “I’m happy to help. It just would have been nice to have a heads up.”

“I’m giving you a heads up now.”

“Yeah, thanks.” Sam laughed a little. His hazel eyes followed Dean as his older brother inspected a shelf of artisan olive oil. He was practically glaring at the fancy labels, and he muttered something under his breath about healthy fats being a conspiracy before grabbing the cheapest, most non-descript bottle. When he turned to put the bottle in the cart, he noticed Sam watching him.

“What?” Dean asked warily.

Sam’s face smoothed out. “Nothing. I guess I’m just glad to see you actually buying groceries for a change.”

“If you’re going to get sappy in the middle of a Whole Foods, I’m leaving.” Dean warned.

Sam glared at him. “Relax, I’m not going to cry on your shoulder or anything. It’s just… it was kinda touch-and-go there for a while. Mom and I were really worried.”

“Yeah, I noticed.” Dean snapped, turning down the breakfast aisle. “You and mom seem to have a lot of conversations about me.”

“Only because we want to help you. We just don’t always know how.”

“Join the club.” Dean muttered, looking at the boxes of organic granola with mildly veiled distrust.

“Dean, we want to talk to you. We’ve tried.” Sam’s voice was low. “You haven’t always made it easy.”

Dean looked at Sam, and then his shoulders stooped. He knew Sam had a point. “I know. But I’m working on it. And… I dunno, I guess I’d prefer it if you’d talk with me, instead of behind my back.”

Sam searched Dean’s face for a moment, and then nodded. “Fair enough. We’ll talk with you from now on. Okay?”

Dean nodded, then rubbed the back of his neck nervously before saying, “And, for what it’s worth… I called Dr. Moseley. Got an appointment next week.”

Sam’s eyebrows shot up, and he beamed. “Dean, that’s great.”

“Don’t get too excited. It’s just a check-in; I don’t even know if I’ll keep going.” Dean picked out the most childish and sugar-laden cereal he could find and threw it in the cart. Sam frowned at the cereal, before his eyes flicked up to Dean again.

“I’ve been trying to get you back into therapy for months.” He said.

“Yeah, I’m aware.” Dean snorted softly.

“So, why now? What made you change your mind?”

Dean thought for a second, before shrugging sheepishly. “Guess I feel obligated. I mean, I’m lecturing a kid about looking after himself and I can’t even do the same? Seems kind of hypocritical.”

Dean looked at Sam, and from Sam’s face, he knew his younger bother could tell there was something Dean wasn’t saying. Sure, what he’d said was true, but it was more than that. He wanted to be better for Cas; he didn’t want to crumble into a heap every time the memories of his dad crept up on him. He’d been doubtful about going back to therapy at first, but then fooling around with Cas the other night had opened the floodgates to a whole host of other bad memories. Dean still reddened with humiliation at the memory. God, he couldn’t even get off with his boyfriend without tail spinning in panic.

That first time in the shower had been different. Dean had never had shower sex with guys before, so everything with Cas that night had felt new and safe. The kitchen was a different story. The floor felt like the hard floors in bar bathrooms, and Cas’s body had been hard and unyielding instead of relaxed and pliant like it’d been in the shower. One of those things might have been tolerable on their own, but together? It had been enough to set Dean off.

When Dean had been working, he’d had strict rules: protection was mandatory, biting or kissing were off-limits, he gave head but didn’t get it, and he preferred to top, though he’d bottom for extra. And everything was back-to-chest, never face-to-face. Because that was way, way too personal for Dean’s liking.

He’d done all he could to protect himself; to get shit done, grab his money, and get out. It hadn’t always worked that way. Sure, the bar where he picked up his clients was nice enough and the college crowd was admittedly good looking, but that didn’t mean they were nice. He’d been shoved against bathroom stalls and called degrading names and fucked before he was really ready. He’d had guys knock him out so they could take back the money they’d ponied up front.

With all these nightmarish memories freshened in his mind, he figured therapy was hardly a bad idea.

“Dean.” Sam’s voice snapped Dean back to the present, and he blinked, realizing he’d spaced out for a few seconds.

“What?”

“I asked if you wanted to come over to our place Friday night. Apparently Sarah’s gunna make this soup that has beer in it; figured you’d want in.”

Dean felt his stomach rumble distantly, but he avoided Sam’s gaze as he said, “Can’t. I got a date.”

Sam’s face split into a smile. “With Cas?”

“No, with Ginger from Gilligan’s Island.” Dean’s lip twisted with sarcasm. “Yeah, with Cas.”

“Alright, no need to get bitchy.” Sam laughed. “Jesus, your face is red.”

“No it’s not.”

“Yes it is. Because you’re Hot For Teacher, and you know it.”

“Shut it, Sammy.”

Sam stopped in his tracks. Dean looked back at him.

“What?” He asked.

“You called me Sammy.”

“That’s your name, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, but… you haven’t called me Sammy in months.” Sam’s eyes were a little glassy, obvious emotion shining behind them. Dean groaned softly and rolled his eyes, before turning and continuing down the frozen food aisle.

“Remind me never to go grocery shopping with you again.”

xXx 

Castiel had never, not once in his life, felt like a teenager. All throughout high school he felt as if there was this horrible disconnect between him and his fellow students. He never understood the need for various states of inebriation or the dislike of school, and as a result he spent most of his time locked away with books instead of going to parties or hooking up.

Not to say that his teenage years were boring. There was the occasional time when Gabriel or Luc had managed to drag him out of his room, and he let his older brothers pressure him into getting liquored up on more than one occasion. And he had his share of conquests – boys who liked art and who played in the school band; who were outcasts like him. But he had to keep that all a secret, and he never let it get serious. It was just better that way.

On Friday night, Castiel felt something like a teenager. He’d been on precious few dates in his life, but while they had gone well enough and he’d enjoyed himself, he’d never been practically sick with nerves. He hadn’t felt this glowing excitement deep in his gut that took his appetite away and made him feel like he’d had way too much coffee.

Everything about it was effortless and simple. At first glance, it didn’t look like a date; it shouldn’t have felt like one. Because Charlie and Benny were there, and the theatre was packed and noisy with the Friday night crowd. Dean seemed perfectly at ease, arguing heatedly about what movie they were going to see (Dean wanted _Mockingjay Part One,_ the rest of them pushed for _Interstellar)._ He was wearing a plain Henley shirt and his black jacket and work boots; Cas was in a sweater and old jeans. There was no candlelight; no romantic restaurant with expensive wine; no hushed conversations.

And it was perfect.

Cas could tell that Dean was more comfortable with Charlie and Benny there, and that was enough to make him happy. But there were also tiny, insignificant little moments that made Cas suddenly remember: this is a _date._

Like Dean holding open the door to the theater and letting Cas go in first; like him insisting he pay for Cas’s ticket, even though Cas argued he’d been the one to officially ask him out. Some time during the previews, Dean’s knee leaned over and rested against Cas’s, and that timid bit of contact was enough to distract Cas for the better part of the movie. All night, there was this building tension between them; a sort of humming that intensified every time they’d look at each other for too long or when their hands would brush.

And at one point during all of this, Cas realized that this is what teenagers must have felt like. He’d thought he had missed out on that crazed excitement; the butterflies-in-your-stomach affection that everyone had talked about. Now, he considered the possibility that maybe he hadn’t missed it at all. Maybe he’d just been waiting for _this._

The tension finally came to a head when Dean parked the Impala outside of his building. They’d been figuratively dancing around Charlie and Benny all night, but when the engine died and they were surrounded by nothing but silence and snow gently falling on the windshield, something between them snapped.

All it took was a single sideways glance from Cas, and then Dean was lunging across the Impala’s front seat, fisting Cas’s jacket and dragging his mouth to his. Cas’s hands flew up and wrapped around Dean’s neck, and he kissed him back eagerly, tongues and lips fighting for domination. Dean pulled until Cas climbed into his lap so that he was straddling his waist with his knees.

“Next time,” Dean said breathlessly, “No Charlie and Benny.”

Cas laughed a little. “I thought you liked having them there.”

Dean moved his hands to Cas’s hips and pulled him forward, so that their chests were flush together. Dean kissed him deep and dirty before replying, “I did, at first. But all through that movie all I could think about was doing this.”

To make his point, Dean slowly rolled his hips up into Cas as he sucked his bottom lip into his mouth. Cas’s eyes fluttered closed, and he groaned softly in response. After the whole incident on Dean’s kitchen floor, Cas had been wary about being too rough, but now he figured the trick was to let Dean set the pace. And the pace Dean was currently setting was very, very good.

He felt Dean’s hands snake up his shirt and move up his back, and he shivered and arched his back in response. As he did, though, he jostled the steering wheel and the horn sounded, sending an obtrusive blast out into the quiet night air. Both of them jumped, before pulling apart and laughing softly.

“Maybe we should go upstairs.” Cas suggested quietly. Dean looked up at his apartment building, and then back at Cas with a tortured expression, as if the distance was just too much to bear. But he nodded anyways.

They made out feverishly in the elevator, and then all but stumbled through Dean’s apartment door, fighting to pull each other’s jackets off. Cas’s mind was reeling, and his heart was hammering in his chest; he was hardly aware of his surroundings, so it was Dean who had the mind to reach over and flick on the light.

He was reaching for Cas again, when his eyes glanced around the apartment and he froze. His face instantly went white, and Cas frowned, turning to follow his gaze.

Standing in Dean’s living room, idly flipping through a book he’d found on the coffee table, was a dark-skinned, bald man. Sitting at the kitchen table, disarming Dean’s Beretta was a man with dark black hair and a beard. Cas felt every ounce of blood in his body freeze; he could feel his stomach dropping somewhere around his feet, and he was suddenly unable to move.

Slowly, the dark man raised his head. Beetle-black eyes took in Dean and then settled on Cas, and a wide, predatory smile pulled at his lips.

“Hello, Castiel.” 

xXx

 

Alarms were blaring in Dean’s head. He’d never had to worry about break-ins in his apartment before; it was operated by code, after all, and anyone who could hack a security code undoubtedly had better places to rob than an apartment building. Now, though, there were two strangers – and very intimidating looking strangers – in his apartment. And the bald one apparently knew Cas.

“Who the hell are you?” Dean asked icily.

“Watch your tone, boy.” The man said, though he said it calmly, and that stupid smile was still plastered to his face. Dean hated him instantly. The man’s eyes flickered back to Cas, and Dean resisted the urge to physically step in front of him.

“Uriel.” Cas’s voice was as hard and cold as Dean had ever heard it. “How did you find me?”

“A happy mistake, actually.” Uriel replied, his smile widening and his eyes pointedly resting on Dean. Dean swallowed, though he held Uriel’s gaze steadily.

“Me?” He asked, and Uriel lifted an eyebrow. “What do you want with me?”

“Nothing with you, personally.” Uriel stated, setting the book he was holding down on the coffee table. He slid his hands into the pockets of his slacks as he ambled into the kitchen. “My associates and I had business with your father. You’ve simply inherited it.”

Dean felt his stomach drop, and anything he’d been planning to say got caught in his throat. Beside him, Cas stood stalk-still and wordless; a completely different man from the one who’d been clinging to Dean’s jacket just moments earlier.

“Since you’ve obviously made friends with Cassie,” Uriel purred, and Cas bristled at the name, “I assume you have an idea of who we are. John Winchester did, too; my boss had been generous enough to help John out of a tight spot, under the condition that his generosity would be paid back. And he was paying it back, dime for dime, until about four months ago.”

“He had a fucking heart attack.” Dean growled out.

“I’m aware, but it’s not my problem.” Uriel’s smile was slipping now. “What remains is the status quo: your father had a debt to be paid, and now that’s your responsibility. I’m merely here to make you aware of the situation.” He spread his arms amiably, and then his eyes fell on Cas. “This, though, is quite the surprise.”

Cas narrowed his eyes at him. “Whatever Dean’s father owes, I assure you the family can do without it.”

“That’s not how this works, Castiel. You know that – it’s the _principle_ of it.” Uriel replied calmly, though an edge was working its way into his voice.

“You’ve made exceptions before.”

“Yes, for you.” Uriel said icily. “On the condition you were never to be seen again. And yet here you stand.”

“I’m trying to live my life.” Cas argued. “I stayed away, like my father asked. It’s not my fault you stumbled on me by accident.”

“This isn’t about fault, Castiel. It’s about consequence.”

Cas swallowed, and Dean’s stomach turned to ice. The man at the table was watching this exchange quietly, Dean’s disarmed gun sitting useless on the table in front of him.

“How much does my old man owe you?” Dean asked tightly.

Uriel looked at Dean. “Twenty.”

 _“Thousand?”_ Dean’s eyes widened, and Uriel just blinked at him. “I don’t have that kind of money. Christ, I’ve never seen that kind of money in my life.”

“The strange thing about being in situations such as yours, Dean,” Uriel was walking closer to him, “Is that they bring out the _creativity_ in people. Think hard – I’m sure you’ll come up with the money somehow. After all, isn’t that how you managed to get through college?”

Nausea rolled in Dean’s stomach. “How did you know about that?”

Uriel chuckled. “It’s my business to know everything about you. You know I really am impressed – you were a prostitute for most of your college career, and yet you weren’t arrested for it once; your criminal record is surprisingly clean. Still, you unearth plenty of secrets by poking around old campus hangouts.”

Dean’s hatred for this man boiled and rose. “I’m not doing that shit anymore, and I don’t have your money. So you and your deadbeat crony can kiss my ass.”

This was Uriel’s last straw. With a frighteningly large and strong hand, he grabbed Dean around the neck and pressed him up against the wall, his thumb digging into Dean’s windpipe. Cas immediately leapt onto Uriel, but a well-placed elbow sent him sprawling to the ground with a sickening _crack._ The guy at the table sprung up, whipping his own gun out of his waistband. He placed his foot on Cas’s throat and aimed the gun at his head. Cas glared at him, a thin trail of blood trickling from his nose to his chin.

“Do you think this is a game?” Uriel whispered menacingly, his eyes boring into Dean’s. “Because I would hate for you to underestimate me. I wonder what that precious school of yours would think about having an ex-hooker on their staff.” Uriel’s grip on Dean’s throat tightened, and spots began to prickle in his vision. “Or your mother, living up in that big house all by herself. Such a safe neighborhood… I bet she doesn’t even lock the front door when she goes to sleep.”

“Don’t you fucking-” Dean managed to rasp out, before Uriel punched him in the ribs, and pain shot through his body.

“Dean-” Cas started, but the guy with the gun delivered a swift punch to his jaw.

“Shut the fuck up.” He growled at him.

“This is what’s going to happen.” Uriel said, his hand still around Dean’s throat. “You owe the Milton family twenty thousand dollars. Now, I’m a generous man. Aren’t I, Ion?” He looked over his shoulder, and the guy with the gun – Ion – nodded. His gaze settled on Dean again. “So I’m going to give you until January. I don’t care how you get it. I don’t care if you sell drugs to teenagers, I don’t care if you rip off a gas station, I don’t care if you bend over for every pretty boy who offers you a ten spot for a five-minute fuck in a club bathroom. I’ll be back on the last day of January, and you better have the money. If not,” Uriel shrugged. “We’ll start with that beautiful mother of yours. After that… we’ll see where my imagination takes me.”

He stepped away and released Dean, and Dean fell to a heap on the floor, gasping for breath. Uriel turned his gaze to Castiel.

“Now, as for the Prodigal Son.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “You know, you raise a good point, Castiel – our reunion was a happy accident. And as Dean knows, I’m feeling generous tonight.” He rubbed his thumb along his bottom lip thoughtfully. “For now, Ion and I will conveniently forget that we saw you – for an extra five thousand, and on the condition that you’re not in Lawrence when we come back.” Uriel looked at Dean.

“What will happen if I say no?” Dean asked, his voice grating on his abused throat.

“Castiel comes with us.” Uriel shrugged.

“I’ll get you the money, but Cas stays for as long as he wants.” Dean growled.

Uriel knelt down in front of Dean and grabbed him by his hair, tilting his head up so that he could look at him. Dean winced, and he thought about fighting back, but a quick glance revealed the shining handle of a gun tucked in Uriel’s waistband. “You seem to be under the impression that you’re in the position to make negotiations.” Uriel intoned. “You know my terms. What is your answer?”

“Dean, you don’t-” Castiel began, but then there was a metallic click as Ion turned off the safety of his gun, and Cas fell silent. Dean looked over at him, his eyes hard as he begged Castiel to _please just shut up._

He looked back at Uriel. “Deal.”

Cas closed his eyes. Uriel grinned.

“Beautiful.”

Uriel signaled to Ion, and the man took his foot from Cas’s throat, clicking the safety back into place. Cas remained motionless, staring daggers at the two men, before casting a glance to where Dean was still slouched on the floor. Dean gave him a small nod, signaling that he was okay.

The two men headed for the door, but before he reached for the handle, Uriel stopped and turned to Cas.

“You know, I shouldn’t be surprised to find you in Kansas. _They’re_ in Topeka, are they not?” Uriel asked, but Cas just tensed his jaw and didn’t say anything. “Don’t make the mistake of living under a false sense of security, Castiel. It doesn’t suit you.”

With that, he pulled open the door, and he and Ion disappeared through it. The sound of it slamming echoed around the room.

“Cas, you alright?” Dean asked.

Cas nodded and dragged himself to a sitting position, lifting his hand up and gently holding it to his still bleeding nose. “I’ve lived through worse, trust me.”

“Yeah, me too.” Dean stood up gingerly. “It’s been a while, though.”

His ribs were throbbing. They definitely weren’t broken, but Dean knew he was going to have one hell of a bruise. Uriel knew how to throw a punch. Groaning a little, Dean reached down and pulled Cas up.

From behind the couch, Lola whined timidly, and Dean walked over to open her crate door. Lola crawled out eagerly, her tail wagging despite the way she was shaking. Dean ran a reassuring hand along her back.

“It’s okay, kid.” He said quietly. “Dad’s gonna put new locks on the doors.” 

“You know,” Cas said, voice muffled by his hand, “This isn’t exactly how I planned for our date to end.”

Dean snorted softly. “No shit, Cas. Come on, let me clean you up.”  

In the bathroom, Cas leaned against the sink as Dean wet a cloth with warm water, before bringing it up to Cas’s face. Cas dropped his hand, his blue eyes looking up at Dean guiltily.

“So that was your family, huh?” Dean asked, dabbing at the blood on Cas’s skin. He brought his other hand up to gingerly cup Cas’s face.

“More or less.” Cas replied stiffly. “Uriel’s not a blood relation – obviously. He began working for us when he was a teenager; my father sort of took him in. And Ion is just another one of my father’s weapons.”

Dean nodded numbly as Cas told him this. Cas’s eyes never left his face.

“Dean, I’m sorry.” He said, his voice remorseful. Dean frowned.

“For what? Cas, this isn’t your fault.”

“How? They’re _my_ family.”

“Who are after _my_ old man.” Dean shot back, turning and rinsing the cloth out in the sink. “This is probably the first time I’m wishing the son of a bitch wasn’t dead." 

“So what you’re saying is,” Cas wiggled his nose and winced a little, “That this is our families’ fault.”

“Pretty much.” Dean shrugged, though he couldn’t help but feel guilty. Even after all this time, he felt responsible for the things John managed to fuck up. He turned back to Cas and tilted his chin up. “I think your nose stopped bleeding. But you’re probably gunna have a bruise – if not one eye, then both.”

“Well, if that won’t endear me to my students, I’m not sure what will.” Cas joked half-heartedly. He looked at Dean. “What about you?”

“I’m fine.” Dean said, though his hand came up to subconsciously rub at his neck. His throat felt bruised, and his voice was still coming out a little cracked. He looked up. “Cas, what was he talking about? Who’s in Topeka?”

Now, Cas’s blue eyes dropped, settling on the floor. Dean crossed his arms, just so he wouldn’t reach out and take his chin in his hand. A few seconds of uncomfortable silence settled between them.

“My daughter is in Topeka.” Cas raised his gaze again, his resolute blue eyes resting on Dean’s. Dean felt like he had the wind knocked out of him again.

“Your… daughter.” He repeated dumbly.

“I was going to tell you.” Cas’s voice was pleading. “But it’s complicated. And you and I are only getting started. I was just waiting for the right time.”

Dean let out a breath, trying to get this information to process. He ran his hands through his hair, then linked his fingers behind his head as he walked out of the bathroom and to his room. Cas followed.

So, Cas had a daughter. That wasn’t such a big deal, right? Lots of people had daughters. Though, of course, that usually meant they had spouses, too.

“Well, cat’s out of the bag.” Dean turned to Cas. “What’s the deal, you’re secretly married or something?”

Cas frowned. “No, nothing like that.”

“Well, I’m pretty damn confused. I thought you were gay? How do you have a daughter?”

“Being homosexual and birthing children are not mutually exclusive.” Cas shot back.

Dean knew Cas had a point, but he was angry, and that usually resulted in him running off his mouth without thinking. “Explain to me how this works, then.”

Cas took a breath. “Her mother – Norah – was a close friend of mine in college. She was attracted to me, but seeing as I _am_ gay, I never returned her affections. I was going through a rough time, and one night we both had too much to drink,” Cas shrugged. “I sought comfort where I thought I’d find it.”

“And did you?” Dean demanded, though he wasn’t sure why it mattered. Cas gave a small, bitter laugh.

“You know, a part of me – a shamefully large part – was hoping I’d like it. That I’d discover I was straight all along. But no; I didn’t find any comfort with Norah. Truthfully, I hardly remember the night at all.”

Dean studied Cas’s face, and slowly, his muscles began to relax. Cas’s explanation was undoubtedly reasonable, even if the thought of Cas with some woman sent a snarl to Dean’s guts.

“So you bang a chick once, and you knock her up?” Dean raised an eyebrow at him.

“One time is all it takes.” Cas replied, giving a tired sigh before sitting on the edge of Dean’s bed. Dean hesitated, and then sat beside him. He groaned softly when the movement spiked pain through his ribs. “Norah wanted to keep the baby, and I respected her wishes. She told me I could be as involved as I wanted, and even now, I see her as often as I can. But I can’t risk my father deciding to use them as leverage; it’s better for them if I stay away.”

Dean’s heart ached at the obvious sadness in Cas’s voice. “What’s her name?”

Cas’s lip twitched with a warm smile. “Tanya.”

The name bounced around in Dean’s head, and he decided he liked it. It was feminine, but spunky.

“Dean, I’m sorry.” Cas looked over at him. “I should have told you.”

“No, you’re right. We’re pretty new, and you gotta do what’s right for your kid.” Dean looked at Cas sincerely. Cas’s blue eyes studied Dean’s face for a moment, before he leaned in hesitantly. Dean closed the rest of the space for him, catching Cas’s lips gently in his own. With that small bit of contact, the tension seemed to leech out of both of them, and Dean let a shaky breath escape his lips. When they pulled away, Dean rested his forehead against Cas’s; a gesture that was filled with familiarity now.

“What happens now?” Cas whispered.

“About the money? I have no idea. But I’ll figure it out.”

“You shouldn’t have accepted Uriel’s proposition.” Cas said, and Dean pulled back from him.

“And what, just let them take you?” He demanded. “Hell no. Who knows what would have happened to you.”

Cas shrugged. “The chances that my father would kill me are slim. Anything else, I could have survived.”

“And what if you were wrong?”

“Then it would have been my problem.”

Dean shook his head and pushed away from the bed, pacing angrily. “You can’t say that. Are you seriously trying to tell me your daughter would be better off without her dad?” Dean glared at Cas. “And what about _me?_ Yeah, this whole thing with us is pretty new, but… Cas, I had decided a long time ago that I was going to be alone forever. And I was pretty damn certain about it. But then you…” Dean took a shaky breath. He could hardly believe he was saying this out loud, but Cas had to hear it. “Shit, I met you, and everything changed. Don’t you get how big that is?”

“Dean,” The word came out low and wrecked, and Cas stood up, moving to Dean and cupping his face in his hands. “Please don’t ever think that I don’t care about you. Because I do; immensely. But if leaving would have kept you safe, I would have done it.”

“It wouldn’t have. I still owe those sons of bitches money, and you’ve gotta be gone by January.” Dean’s voice was hard, but he couldn’t help lean into Cas’s touch.

“I’m not going anywhere.” Cas said automatically.

“Yeah.” Dean scoffed, and Cas dropped his hand. “That’s what you say now. It’s only November. A lot can change by January.”

“You think I’m going to leave.” Cas’s voice was deadpan.

“I’m just not going to get my hopes up.” Dean retorted. “That’s all.”

“Hopes up? About what?” Cas’s eyes narrowed in anger, and he looked surprisingly intimidating. “That someone could actually care for you like you deserve? That you’re not meant to spend the remainder of your life on your own? That you’re _worth_ all of this?”

Dean swallowed, his eyes never leaving Cas’s, but he didn’t answer.

“Well?” Cas prompted.

“I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“I want…” Cas broke off and shook his head a little in frustration. “I want you to see that I won’t leave. That… Jesus, Dean, that I’m willing to _fight_ for you.”

Dean blinked then, and some indescribable emotion shot up his spine.

“I’ve been running for too long.” Cas went on. “I’ve known it for a while, but I’ve never wanted to _stay_ until now. I won’t leave. And if you need me to stick around and prove it to you… then I will.”

Dean was quiet, his breathing harsh as he studied Cas’s stern face. There was a split second of utter silence and then he was surging forward, fitting his hand around the back of Cas’s neck and crashing their lips together.

In the space of a breath, every ounce of heat that had built up between them earlier in the night flared up ten-fold. Cas took a breath in and pulled Dean closer. At first there kiss was rushed and heated; it was all teeth and tongues scraping, their hands rough and reaching. Then, as Dean took a stuttering breath, it was as if time melted and slowed down.

One by one Dean’s muscles relaxed. He pulled away from Cas a little and let his mouth drop open slowly, inviting Cas in. Cas obliged, licking his way into Dean’s mouth languidly as he slipped his hands beneath the fabric of Dean’s shirt.

Cas’s hands traced a steady line up Dean’s spine, but they didn’t move to pull at the fabric of the shirt of take it off. His lips were soft and responsive but Dean could feel Cas holding himself back. Dean knew, then, that Cas was letting him set the pace; he was letting Dean control the situation. A warm surge of gratitude shot through Dean, but there was the distant thought that coddling was the last thing he needed right now as he swiftly pulled Cas’s sweater over his head.

Cas immediately followed Dean’s lead, pulling his shirt off over his head. Skin surged against skin and Dean shivered in relief. He kissed Cas deeply, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth a little as his hands found their way to the belt on Cas’s jeans.

As he began to undo the buckle, he pulled away just a little and looked at Cas. When Cas opened his eyes, his pupils were blown wide and dark with lust.

“Is this okay?” Dean’s voice was husky, but he had to ask just to be sure. Cas nodded before pulling him in again.

Soon, two pairs of jeans joined the other forgotten clothes on the floor. Dean pushed Cas down onto the bed and then crawled on top of him, his knees straddling the man’s narrow waist. Dean leaned down and kissed Cas deeply, their hot and wet mouths melting into one another as Dean let his hips dip down. Cas let out a low groan when their erections slid together, still trapped beneath the fabric of their boxer briefs but the friction still deliciously hot and slow.

Dean’s thoughts suddenly stuttered. He was in a bathroom, in an alley, in the back of a strange car; he could smell beer and cigarettes and sweat. Random nameless men flashed behind his closed eyelids and his entire body was covered with that sickly, cheap, worthless feeling that had him curling inward; aching to make himself invisible so that no one would ever see or touch him again.

Suddenly, there was a soft hand cradling his cheek. Dean forced himself to open his eyes. Cas was watching him carefully, his lips pink and cheeks flushed, but blue eyes bright with worry. Dean took a breath and forced himself back to the present.

_Dear God, don’t freak out about this. You’re with Cas. It’s okay._

“Dean,” Cas whispered softly, the word a quiet plea. Dean responded by leaning down and kissing him softly. Cas curled his fingers around into Dean’s hair. When Dean took a deep breath in, all he could smell this time was _Cas._ He let it flood his senses.

xXx

Cas let his hands move down from Dean’s neck to his chest. He swiped his thumbs across his hardened nipples and then they were moving down, scratching lightly across Dean’s stomach before circling around to his back. Cas remembered how, when he had first met Dean, he’d thought that the man looked a little underfed. Now, though, Dean’s body was healthy and strong; Cas could feel the muscles bunching and relaxing in his back and stomach.

The room was quiet except for the sound of their breath and the rustling of sheets. Cas moved his mouth from Dean’s lips and to his neck. His skin was tinged with salt and Cas sucked it into his mouth, leaving wet little bruises in his wake. Dean gasped softly and exposed more of his throat to Cas, his hips still moving in a torturing rhythm.

Dean sucked a breath in when Cas dipped his hands beneath the fabric of his boxers. He grabbed Dean’s ass firmly and pulled him down, dragging a guttural moan from Dean’s throat. Cas opened his mouth and let his teeth scrape a little across the skin of Dean’s neck.

“Fuck, Cas.” Dean breathed, his chest and neck flushed with arousal. Cas could feel his thick cock throbbing against his own, and he ached to free it from the restraints of Dean’s boxers, but he wasn’t going to until Dean said it was all right.

Luckily, Cas had his ways of bringing Dean to that point. With a small, wicked smile, he dipped a finger into the cleft of Dean’s ass. Dean responded by groaning lowly and canting his hips up into the contact. As Cas’s finger skimmed against his hole, Cas rolled his hips up into Dean, the friction sending an electric shock through both their systems.

With a low growl, Dean hooked his fingers in the waistband of Cas’s boxers and yanked them down.

“Fucking tease.” He whispered roughly before capturing Cas’s lips with his own, and Cas wiggled his hips up so that Dean could slide the boxers down properly. When Cas pulled Dean’s boxers off, he let his thumbs drag down the sensitive skin of his hips and thighs, enjoying the shiver that wracked up Dean’s body.

Finally, _finally,_ Dean let his body drape down over Cas’s. Cas hissed a little at the contact of Dean’s erection directly against his own, and he arched up, reveling in the feeling of Dean’s bare skin.

xXx 

“How d’you wanna do this?” Cas’s voice was low and wrecked and his normally clipped syllables ran together. Dean swallowed, trying to force down the primal _need_ that was building up in his system.

Dean had never said it out loud before – had barely let himself even think it – but he _liked_ bottoming. He loved the feeling of being stretched and full and he loved the ache that came after. But the only problem was that bottoming always came with a certain level of trust and loss of control, and those didn’t sit so well with Dean.

But he _wanted_ Cas.

So he moved Cas’s hand back to where it had been, teasing at the dip of his ass, and he lifted his hips again. Then he leaned forward and brushed his lips against Cas’s and whispered,

“Fuck me.”

Cas groaned, his hips automatically bucking up into Dean’s.

“Do you have…?” Cas’s voice was getting more and more wrecked by the second. Dean bit his lip, leaning over to grab the (until now) rarely used bottle of lube and a condom from his bedside drawer.

He tossed them on the bed and settled back over Cas as Cas flicked open the bottle and smeared some lube over his fingers. Then he leaned up and kissed Dean again, his mouth soft and responsive, before his hand moved back around and Dean felt his fingers pushing gently at the ring of muscle around his hole.

“Shit,” Dean hissed quietly, “That’s cold.”

Cas chuckled. “It’ll warm up soon, I promise.”

Dean’s heart was hammering, and his arms shook a little as he braced himself above Cas. When he felt a finger push gently past that first ring of muscle, he gasped and warmth pooled immediately in his stomach.

 _Fuck._ He’d forgotten how much he liked this.

He opened his eyes to look at Cas with lust-blown eyes.

“More.” He growled quietly.

Cas nipped his bottom lip playfully. “Patience.”

But he obliged, sliding his finger in past the second knuckle before crooking it around and dragging across the soft, wet muscles inside. Dean whimpered, his entire body convulsing with pleasure.

“More?” Cas asked, his voice teasing and aroused. Dean nodded, his eyes shut with ecstasy.

Cas pushed a second finger in beside the third, and the stretch was so beautiful, so good that Dean pitched forward a little, his forehead resting in the crook of Cas’s shoulder.

Cas kissed his neck as he opened him slowly, his fingers insistent against Dean’s taught muscles and soon Dean was a writhing, panting mess on top of him.

“Okay, I’m ready.” Dean finally said, crushing Cas’s lip with a bruising kiss. “Just fuck me, please.”

Cas couldn’t help a smug smile as he looked up at him, but he reached over and handed Dean the condom. Dean ripped it open with his teeth, and then leaned down and rolled it onto Cas’s cock, which was aching and leaking against his stomach. Cas groaned at the contact, his hips bucking up a little into Dean’s hand as Dean spread a little more lube down his length.

When Dean leaned up and kissed Cas, it was surprisingly soft and tender. Their lips brushed and their tongues pressed against one another gently as they breathed. Then Dean pulled back and he braced one hand flat against Cas’s chest, not breaking eye contact as he lifted his hips and sank down onto Cas in one smooth, agonizing glide.

Cas groaned, his body arching up into Dean and his eyes sliding shut in pleasure. Dean’s mouth dropped open with a silent pant, his brain practically short-circuiting with the feeling of his body opening to let Cas in. Cas was bigger than he had anticipated, and the stretch burned and ached, but God it was so _good._ He gave himself a minute, breathing heavily with his head bent over Cas as he let his body adjust.

xXx

Cas’s blunt fingernails were digging into Dean’s hips, and sparks of pleasure crackled up his spine. He knew it had obviously been a while for Dean, but his body was so tight that it felt like his first time. Cas’s jaw was flexed hard as he concentrated on not coming right then and there.

He stretched up into Dean, feeling himself slip just a few inches deeper before he ground out, “Move.”

So Dean did. He dragged his hips up, moving off of Cas slowly, before sliding himself back down. Cas’s nails dug into Dean’s skin harder, so hard he knew he’d probably leave bruises, but he couldn’t help himself. Dean let his head fall back as he rode Cas slowly, sweat shining across his flushed neck and chest as his mouth dropped open with breathy, needy pants.

Cas couldn’t take his eyes off him. Dean was always beautiful, but right here – so lost in the moment, giving himself over totally to pleasure and feeling – he was absolutely _gorgeous._ He moved his hips incessantly, languidly, his body squeezing and pulling at Cas until they were breathless.  

Then Dean lowered himself, his hands bracing on either side of Cas as he rested their foreheads together. Their mouths were mere inches apart, open but not kissing, instead just breathing in time with one another as Dean slowly fucked himself down onto Cas.

“God, you’re beautiful.” Cas ground out, giving Dean a quick, dirty kiss. Dean whimpered in reply, his breathing turning ragged and shallow as his thighs started to shake.

xXx 

Dean could _feel_ Cas, right from the stretch of tight muscle around his hole straight up to the back of his spine. The slow, agonizing drag of it was intoxicating, and Dean wasn’t sure he could stand much more.

Luckily, Cas seemed to sense this, because suddenly his strong arms were wrapping around Dean’s middle and flipping them around. Without a second’s hesitation Dean wrapped his legs around Cas’s waist and pulled him in deeper, their bodies stretching and moving together. Cas kissed him deeply as he began to fuck into Dean in earnest, pulling all the way out before slamming back in again.

Dean let his head drop into the pillow and he cried out, his fingers scratching red, angry lines into Cas’s back.

“Fuck, yeah, Cas.” He moaned, spots of white-hot pleasure igniting behind closed eyes. “Just like that. Come on, I know you’re holding back.”

Dean leaned up and took the lobe of Cas’s ear in his teeth, scraping the soft skin gently. Cas groaned, and his pace didn’t quicken but he managed to fuck even deeper, so hard that the breath was punched from Dean’s lungs. Cas circled his hips a little and the new angle hit against that tight bundle of nerves inside Dean and Dean practically screamed, his head pressing back into the pillows again.

“Feel good?” Cas growled, his rhythm not ceasing as he hit Dean’s prostate again and again.

“ _Yes_.” Dean whimpered, his eyes screwed shut as he moved his hips perfectly to meet Cas’s thrusts. His hands dropped from Cas’s back and gathered the sheets in white-knuckled fists. Cas was panting against his neck, his hard, ruthless thrusts slamming the headboard into the wall. Dean didn’t have the presence of mind to even think about his neighbors.

The heat tightened and built in Dean’s stomach, and he was practically mewling as Cas’s pace quickened. His hands scrambled for Dean’s and pushed them above his head, their fingers twining together.

“Mine.” Cas’s voice was absolutely wrecked, and his rhythm began to stutter.

“Yours.” Dean whispered, his thighs trembling from where they were wrapped around Cas’s waist. Cas rested his forehead against Dean’s.

“Look at me.” He commanded, and Dean opened his eyes.

It was at this moment that Dean realized, hazily, that he’d never had this – he’d _never_ let himself be fucked face-to-face, but now, with Cas’s flushed chest pressed right against his own and the feeling of him reaching up inside him, Dean couldn’t imagine anything else.

“Come for me, baby.” Cas said, his blue eyes locked on Dean’s, and Dean did. His orgasm punched through him, white-hot and electric, and he felt his muscles spasm and flutter around Cas. Hot come ribboned across his stomach and chest, and within seconds Cas was stuttering against him, his mouth open in a silent scream as he came. His muscles twitched as he rode the aftershocks, and then they collapsed in a sweaty heap.

For a few moments, they didn’t move. Their pulses were racing and their breathing was harsh, their skin slick with sweat as they both came down from the post-orgasmic high. Then slowly, Cas lifted himself up on trembling arms and gave Dean a slow, loving kiss. Dean reached up with equally shaking hands and cradled his face.

“You’re awesome.” Dean said quietly, and Cas chuckled.

“I think I know you well enough to take that for the compliment it is.” He replied, trailing butterfly kisses across Dean’s jaw. He pulled himself out of Dean slowly, earning a low groan from the other man. “Stay here. I’ll get something to clean you up.”

Cas pulled off the used condom and tossed it in the trash, before disappearing into the bathroom. He returned with a warm, dampened cloth, and he carefully wiped the sticky mess from Dean’s chest and stomach. When he crawled into bed again, he slid up beside Dean carefully, but he didn’t hurry to pull Dean into his arms.

Dean had never been a cuddler. Not even with Cassie. Any extended period of touching and _feeling_ without an orgasm as an endgame was too intimate for Dean’s liking, but it occurred to him that technically, he and Cas had been cuddling long before this.

Bearing this thought in mind, Dean shuffled closer to Cas, forcing himself not to care about his still-naked and exposed body. Only the bedside lamp was on and it cast everything in a soft half-light. Their legs bumped together and Cas reached out, resting a tentative arm across Dean’s middle.

“I wasn’t sure if you were a post-sex cuddler.” Cas admitted quietly, his eyes soft as he looked at Dean. Their noses touched lightly, and Dean could feel Cas’s breath ghosting across his lips.

“I am with you.” Dean answered truthfully. Cas pulled Dean in closer. 


	17. Words and Routines

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just want to drop a quick note that in this chapter, I mention a Canadian poet named Shane Koyczan - the poem quoted in this chapter belongs entirely to him. If any of you are interested in spoken-word poetry, I highly recommend checking him out :)
> 
> Once again, thanks for reading!

Dean was glaring at his coffee pot as if it had personally offended him. His mind and chest and stomach were in snarls of emotion and images and feelings, and he felt like his body was rejecting them. Because everything felt too _good_ – despite the obvious complications of John’s unpaid debts; despite the fact that he had no idea how he was going to get himself out of this one. All he could think about was Cas’s rough voice in his ear last night and the way he’d white-knuckled the sheets, and his cheeks still warmed when he remembered the wrecked noises that had fallen from his own lips. Even now, when Dean moved he could feel the burn from where Cas’s stubble had rubbed his skin raw and his body ached where it hadn’t ached in years. And God, he _liked_ it. 

Dean remembered what it had been like eating after so long of having no appetite. How his stomach had protested because it wasn’t used to actual food; like his body had forgotten how to nourish itself. This is what that felt like. It had been so long since he’d let someone else take control, since he’d allowed himself to feel pleasure and completeness and that other word he wasn’t daring to think about, so now he was just rejecting it all completely. It felt easier this way. 

Finally, the coffee was finished brewing, and Dean grabbed the handle and poured two full, steaming cups. He’d lied in bed, pressed close to Castiel’s still naked and sleeping form, before he’d snapped to full consciousness and practically scrambled out. Castiel looked too perfect in sleep. His full lips parted with soft breath, his hair sticking up from where Dean had tugged at it. And all Dean could think of was that this is someone he was going to have to eventually lose. 

So now, he was cursing everything in sight – like the coffee maker and the snowy morning light and the way Lola was noisily eating her breakfast – when really he just wanted to curse himself. 

He was balefully watching the clouds the cream made in his coffee, when Cas silently appeared beside him. He leaned against the counter and crossed his arms, his lithe form hidden beneath one of Dean’s Led Zeppelin t-shirts and a pair of boxer briefs. The bruise from Uriel’s well-placed elbow was blooming delicately beneath his left eye. Dean’s green eyes flicked up to his, but he had to lower them just as fast when last night’s events flashed through his mind. 

“Morning, Cas.” He said quietly. He felt a blush creep up his cheeks and he hated himself for it. 

“You look… troubled.” Cas narrowed his eyes and tilted his head. Dean’s jaw flexed. Was he that easy to read, or was Cas just that good at reading him? 

“I’m fine.” Dean replied, holding out the mug of black coffee for Cas. He took it but his eyes never left Dean’s face. 

“Is this about last night?” 

“No.” Dean couldn’t help but meet his gaze now. “No, last night was… shit, it was amazing.” He put his own mug down and rubbed a hand across his forehead. “It’s just sort of a lot to wrap my head around, I guess.” 

Cas’s face softened. “You think too much.” 

Dean cracked a soft, self-deprecating smile. “No shit.” 

“You’re okay with what happened, though, right?” Cas frowned delicately. 

“Dude, I’m more than okay with what happened.” Dean said quickly. “That’s sorta why I’m freaking out.” 

Dean expected Cas to demand he explain, but Cas only smiled kindly. “Maybe you just… need to stop thinking so much.” 

Dean grimaced. “I don’t really know how.” 

Cas took a breath and looked around the kitchen. “Well, you owe me homemade pancakes. Show me how to make them?” 

Dean blinked at him. Cooking had always calmed Dean down – that’s why he’d gotten into it, in the first place – and right then, making pancakes seemed like the best possible idea. He smiled. 

“Okay.” 

xXx 

Castiel loved Dean’s skin. He knew this already; and was even more aware, after an entire night of practically worshipping it with his hands and mouth. But that didn’t stop him from feeling it still, when he watched the way a blush bloomed across Dean’s cheeks that morning, his freckles standing out even more. Cas fought the urge to drag him back to the bedroom and perform an in-depth repeat of the previous night’s events. But he knew that might be too much. 

Instead, he let Dean make him pancakes. 

“I don’t understand.” Cas frowned at the batter he was currently stirring, “How is pancake batter different from waffle batter?” 

“I dunno.” Dean shrugged as he turned up the heat on the stove, “It’s how you cook them, I guess. Waffles have more eggs, too.” He set a frying pan on the stovetop and looked over at Cas. “You’ve seriously never had to cook for yourself before?” 

Cas attempted to wipe a smear of flour off his arm, but only made it bigger. “Not really. Growing up, we had people to cook for us. But ever since leaving home I’ve basically lived off of Starbucks and ready-made salads.” 

Dean grimaced. “That sounds terrible, man.” 

“What about you?” Cas challenged. “What made you start cooking?” 

Dean glanced at Cas, then pointedly looked away. The muscles in his face became tight. “Well, it’s not like my old man ever spent any time in the kitchen. I learned pretty fast if I didn’t make myself something, then I wouldn’t eat.” 

Dean looked over at the batter, and Cas tilted the bowl at him so he could check on his progress. He nodded slightly and opened a cupboard to retrieve a few spices. Lola was sitting behind them, ears twitching up at Dean’s voice. 

“So you learned out of necessity.” Cas said. Dean sprinkled what Cas saw was cinnamon and nutmeg into the pancake batter. 

“At first, yeah.” He said. “But I dunno… I like cooking. It’s sort of reassuring, you know? You read a recipe, find the ingredients, and you can make something out of it.” 

“You’re speaking in generalities.” Cas pointed out. “I can read a recipe, but that does _not_ mean I can make food.” 

Dean laughed a little, his eyes crinkling in the corners as he glanced at Cas. Cas’s heart skipped; Dean’s laugh was by no means common, and he absolutely reveled in being responsible for it. 

“Maybe part of it comes naturally, then.” Dean allowed, watching as Cas stirred the spices into the batter. The creamy, off-white colour was soon freckled with specks of brown. 

“Your father must not have complained.” Cas tried to make his voice nonchalant; as if he weren’t deliberately fishing for information about Dean’s past. “Having someone willing to cook for you is a good thing.” 

Now, Dean’s face closed down again, and he busied himself with checking the temperature of the stove. “He wasn’t too thrilled with me cooking, actually.” 

Cas frowned. “Why?” 

“Because according to my old man, real men don’t spend time in the kitchen.” Dean replied tightly. 

“That’s not true.” Cas squinted at him, utterly confused. “The finest chefs in the world are men. It’s been a man’s industry for years – like most things, unfortunately.” 

Dean scoffed a little. “Yeah, try telling that to my dad. I remember, one year I decided I wanted to make Sam’s birthday cake, and he flipped. I mean, it was nice cake – it had two tiers, and this double-chocolate filling ‘cause Sam was _crazy_ for chocolate. And the cake came out great. I mean I don’t wanna blow my own horn or anything, but the thing was damn near perfect. Sam loved it; my mom loved it. Dad hated it, though; said that baking was _girly_ and that I could be doing better things with my time.” 

Dean didn’t look at Cas as he said this, just scooped out a cup of batter and dropped it onto the frying pan with a satisfying sizzle. Cas watched him wordlessly. 

“I didn’t cook much around my old man.” Dean went on quietly. “The only things he let slide were things I could barbecue: burgers, chicken, steak. It’s weird,” Dean glanced up at Cas, a humorless smile marking his face, “You cook things outside on a grill and you’re a man, but the second you bake things in an oven, suddenly your masculinity is being called into question.” 

“Who would’ve thought,” Cas shook his head, “Dean Winchester, challenging gender roles.” 

Dean threw him a disparaging glance. “Hey, I’m not trying to make a statement or anything. That was just my experience.” 

Cas bit his lip, deliberating a little before he said, “Your experiences with your father… they don’t seem all that positive.” 

Dean physically stiffened. What a strange and discomfiting thing it was to witness; a man so strong and, at times, self-assured; visibly shrinking into himself, attempting to make himself smaller and less vulnerable. Cas’s heart ached. 

A few quiet seconds passed. Cas thought that Dean was going to let his comment slide without acknowledging it. Cas would have let him; this was a hard topic, Cas knew, but after a while Dean answered him quietly. 

“You know, there are times when I remember my dad being an alright guy. Mostly that’s before he left for Iraq.” Dean kept his eyes away from Cas, focused instead on the pancake slowly cooking on the stove. “When he came back, though… he was different. Makes sense, though, right? War changes people. He started drinking more often and spent less and less time at home. Wasn’t long before he and my mom called it quits.” 

Dean flipped the pancake, revealing the perfectly browned, crisp batter. 

“The doctors diagnosed him with PTSD. I thought he would get better if he had someone around; that’s why I went to live with him.” Dean shook his head. “But it only got worse. Took all his anger and trauma out on me instead. And I just let him.” 

Cas felt his face contort with pain. “It wasn’t your fault, Dean.” 

Dean let out a short, frustrated breath. “Feels like it.” 

Cas felt like his heart was cracking in about a hundred places. Dean still wouldn’t look at him, just flipped the pancake to reveal that it was done, and he plated it before dropping another cup of batter on the stove. 

“Why didn’t you move back in with your mom?” The question sprung from Cas’s lips before he had the chance to check himself, but luckily, Dean hardly blinked. 

“And do what? Tell her that the man she devoted half her life to was an abusive asshole?” 

Cas narrowed his eyes at Dean. “So you were protecting her, as much as you were protecting your father.” 

Dean shrugged. “I did what I had to. My family was broken enough as it was; I didn’t want to do any more damage.” 

Cas bit his lip, fighting not to point out that Dean had done far more damage to himself in the name of protecting his family. Instead, a different thought occurred to him. 

“It must be hard,” He said, “Trying to help Michael. It sounds like you two have a lot in common.” 

Dean flipped the second pancake, then looked over at Cas. His eyes were still sad, but less guarded. 

“He reminds me of… how it was.” He said slowly. “Trying to live through that. And I dunno, if someone had come along and given me a way out… maybe I would have taken it.” 

“But you stood up to his father.” Cas said, his eyes trained on Dean’s face. “That night at the football game. He was nearly attacking Michael and you stepped in. I knew that must have taken bravery, but now, considering what you’ve been through…” Cas broke off, shaking his head a little in wonder. “I can’t imagine the courage that took you.” 

Dean turned his moss-green eyes on Cas. It was quiet for a moment, then he said, “Don’t look at me like that.” 

“Like what?” 

“Like you admire me, or something.” 

Cas tilted his head. “Would that be bad?” 

Dean swallowed. “I don’t feel like I’ve done anything worth admiration.” 

“Regardless,” Cas said, point-blank, “I admire you. You’re incredibly brave, Dean Winchester.” 

Now, Dean raised his eyes to Cas’s again. “Well, we can clap each other on the back when Michael is good and safe. I still don’t like the thought of him living with that guy.” 

Cas watched as Dean plated another pancake, and he took it upon himself to drop another cup of batter on the stove. They moved around each other easily, Dean raising his arm so Cas could move under it, Cas stepping around Lola as she bounced at their heels. 

“Did you give him Sam’s number?” Cas asked, and Dean nodded. 

“Right now, it’s looking like I need to find someone willing to take the kids in. Or just bite the bullet and report them to CPS.” 

“Kids?” Cas asked, confusion creasing his brow. 

“He’s got a younger brother – Asher. CPS will split ‘em up if I report them.” Dean dug around in the cupboard and pulled out a bottle of maple syrup – not the cheap, Aunt Jemima kind, but actual pure maple syrup. Cas felt his stomach rumble with interest. 

“Any idea for who could take them in?” Cas asked, frowning as the batter on the skillet began to bubble. 

“Nope.” Dean replied, leaning over Cas to flip the pancake. Cas turned his head a little, enjoying the gentle drag of Dean’s t-shirt against his bare arm. “I mean, there’s no way I could – this place is way too small, and I’m in no way emotionally equipped to support two kids. But I’m working on it.” 

Cas looked at Dean. “We’ll figure something out.” 

Dean cocked an eyebrow at him; a challenge. “We?” 

Cas couldn’t help a smile. “Yes. I mean, after last night, I think it’s safe to assume that you and I are ‘we’ now. Is that a problem?” 

Cas tilted his chin up, regarding Dean with a somewhat challenging expression. Dean narrowed his eyes, giving Cas a calculating look before saying, 

“No. That’s not a problem at all, Cas.” And then he leaned forward and gave him a quick peck on the lips. 

Castiel might have been biased, but in his opinion, those pancakes were the best he’d ever tasted. 

xXx 

 

“Alright, and that about sums up chapter four, but if you’re doing your readings it should still be fresh in your minds.” Dean put his copy of _The Outsiders_ on his desk and looked up at the class. “Any questions before we go over our chapter topics?” 

Krissy shot her hand in the air. 

“Chambers?” 

“When are we gunna watch the movie?” 

“After we’re finished the book.” 

There were a few groans. 

“Why can’t we watch it as we read it?” 

“Because this is a literature class, not a film class.” Dean replied, pinching the bridge of his nose a little. “If you’re _lucky_ and you hand in half-way decent essays, I’ll put aside a few class times to watch the movie.” 

Krissy pouted. “But that’s not until next month.” 

“Don’t worry, Rob Lowe will look just as dreamy in December.” Dean retorted, shuffling around some papers on his desk, and dear _God,_ did he just call a male actor dreamy in front of his entire class? None of the kids seemed to pick up on it, though; they were all looking at him with half-expectant, half-bored expressions. He cleared his throat a little. 

“So, our first topic for this chapter: was Johnny right to kill Bob at the park?” 

He looked around at the class. A few of them shot each other sideways glances, egging on one another to answer, but the only noises that came were the shuffling of feet under desks and a small cough from the back of the room. Dean frowned. 

“Come on guys, I know it’s Monday, but you gotta work with me.” He glanced down at the assignment sheet he still had on his desk. “Turner – you signed up for Johnny’s character arc. What do you think?” 

From the middle row, Jesse pursed his lips a little before saying, “Well, I think it’s kind of obvious.” 

“Can you be more specific?” Dean raised his eyebrows a little. 

“He killed a guy.” Jesse said plainly. “Murder is wrong.” 

“He was acting in self-defense.” Michael piped up, though he glared at his desk instead of acknowledging Jesse. Dean looked at him in surprise. 

“He could have just pulled Bob away.” Jesse replied, though he didn’t sound so sure of himself. 

“It was five against two!” Now, Michael turned in his seat to face Jesse. The rest of the class perked up, watching the two boys with interest. 

“So? He could have… I dunno, threatened them or something.” 

“Bob was gunna kill Ponyboy.” Michael argued. Jesse sat up a little straighter. 

“Maybe not. He was probably just about to let him go.” 

“So Johnny should have just taken that chance?” 

“Yeah, instead of murdering the kid!” 

“Johnny’s not a murderer.” Michael said resolutely. “He was doing what he had to.” 

Jesse opened his mouth to argue, but Dean held his hand up, figuring he’d better step in. “All right, all right, let’s not get too heated.” He said, and Jesse snapped his mouth shut. The two boys glared at each other, and then Michael turned again to face Dean. “Michael has a point, though. Why exactly are you so sure Johnny isn’t a murderer?” 

Michael looked uneasy at being addressed directly, and he squirmed a little, but he answered, “Those guys had beaten him up before. He knew what they were capable of. He only turned to violence because _their_ violence drove him to that point.” 

Dean blinked, suddenly reminded of why Michael was one of the best students in his class. “So even if he wasn’t a minor, he shouldn’t be charged with murder? Or manslaughter?” 

Michael shook his head. “It was self-defense. Johnny’s not a bad kid; I mean, if it were Dallas who did it, that would be a different story.” 

Dean’s interest piqued and he frowned curiously at Michael. “Why is that?” 

“Because,” Michael shrugged, pausing a little as he gathered his thoughts, “Dally has priors; he carries a gun. He looks for trouble. Meanwhile Johnny puts up with shitty, abusive parents and he’s never so much as lifted a finger against them.” 

Dean’s chest suddenly felt tight, and he understood why Michael had chosen Johnny Cade as his character for the essay. The two of them locked gazes for a moment, and a self-conscious blush rose to Michael’s cheeks; as if he knew Dean could see right through him. But Dean just gave him a short nod, before addressing the class. 

“Michael brings up a good point.” He said, rolling up his sleeves before grabbing the chalk and beginning to write on the board. “Johnny Cade is what we call, in literature, a Christ-figure. Other Christ-figures include Simon from _Lord Of The Flies,_ Jim Casy in _The Grapes of Wrath,_ and believe it or not, Harry Potter _._ ” 

There were a few snickers from around the class. 

“Hey, love it or hate it, JK Rowling knew what she was doing.” Dean finished writing the words _Christ figure_ on the board and turned around, wiping the chalk off his hands. He could see Jesse looking at Michael a little resentfully, and Michael kept his head bowed, though there was a light of vindication shining on his face. 

Dean couldn’t help giving him a small, proud smile. 

xXx 

Cas scrubbed a hand through his hair, thinking it was ironic that people who could never remember names were somehow always teachers. He’d been at Lawrence Private for over a month and he still had to consult his class’s seating charts to remember names. Sure, a few kids stuck out to him – Becky Rosen’s almost suffocating enthusiasm was hard to forget, even though Cas had to admit the girl had a knack for writing fiction. But most of the time Cas had a hard time even keeping the seniors distinguished from the freshmen. Had high school students always looked so young? 

He was looking over his sophomore class’s seating chart when a voice said behind him, 

“How did I not know you wore reading glasses?” 

Looking up, he saw Dean regarding him with a daringly flirty expression. Cas took his glasses off hurriedly, feeling a blush bloom across his cheeks. 

“I don’t wear them if I can help it.” He rumbled quietly, putting them on his desk. Dean laughed softly. 

“Don’t be embarrassed.” He said, “They look good on you.” 

Cas’s blush deepened, and he thanked God that his students hadn’t quite started showing up for class yet. He crossed his arms on his desk and regarded Dean with a put-on expression. 

“Is there a reason you’re harassing me five minutes before class starts?” He asked. Mischief lit behind Dean’s eyes, and he placed his palms on Cas’s desk before leaning toward him. Cas was aware that the door to his classroom was open, but he couldn’t move; his heart hammered as Dean lightly brushed his lips against his. 

“What, I can’t visit my boyfriend at work?” He breathed. 

A thrill shot up Cas’s spine at the word. He let their lips brush teasingly against one another before whispering, “Mr. Winchester, are you trying to seduce me?” 

Dean’s mouth quirked up, just a little. “Is it working?” 

Cas bit his lip through a smile, and was just about to close that tiny bit of space between them when a group of girls walked through the door. Dean stood up immediately, and Cas sat back in his chair, reaching for a few papers on his desk and shuffling them nonsensically. He chanced a peak up at the girls, but they were talking with one another and didn’t seem to be paying the two men any attention. 

Dean let out a slightly shaky breath and ran his hands through his hair. “So… Benny’s gotta use my classroom for my free period. Something about a written test.” Dean smiled hopefully. “Can I grade papers in here?” 

Cas searched Dean’s face, his mouth lifting in a slow smile. He knew it was perfectly possible for Dean to work in the teacher’s lounge, but he’d obviously rather be where Cas is. Despite the fact that Dean watching him teach made him feel uneasy, Cas couldn’t help a hum of satisfaction in his bones. 

“Sure.” 

Cas let Dean have his desk, focusing instead on wiping the blackboard clean as the rest of his class filed in. A few students frowned in mild curiosity at Dean’s presence, and a couple others just greeted him cheerfully, but for the most part they hardly noticed. 

 _It’s not a big deal, right?_ Cas thought to himself. _Teachers help out other teachers all the time._  

“All right,” Cas said, once the bell had rang and the kids were all seated, “Today is the day for your in-class poetry presentations, as I’m sure you’ll remember. Is there anyone who’d like to go first?” 

Becky’s hand shot up, her fingers wiggling a little in the air. Cas fought not to roll his eyes. 

“Miss Rosen, I appreciate the enthusiasm, but you’ve volunteered to be first for nearly every assignment so far.” He said dryly. Dean pressed his lips together in an effort not to chuckle. “Do we have any other takers?” 

As usual, Cas’s class proved to be uncharacteristically cooperative. He’d spent years listening to teachers bitch about kids who were slackers and who talked back, and entire classes that barely showed the slightest hint of interest. But aside from one or two truly bad apples, Castiel had never experienced such a thing. Nine times out of ten, his students weren’t anything but eager; they turned in assignments cheerfully and fed off his always-positive feedback; they leaned forward in their desks when he was talking and willingly participated in discussions. Castiel had assumed this was because he taught a fun subject, but lots of times, other teachers commented that Cas had a sort of “presence” when he taught. Kids just seemed to be drawn to him. 

Cas had always rejected this theory, but regardless, his students gladly volunteered to read out a poem of their choosing. He had limited the assignment to modern-day poets, and he watched as people read from poets such as Lang Leav and Alice Walker. Even Dean seemed to be listening, his eyes glancing up at the student speaking as he worked through his papers. 

With fifteen minutes left in the class, there were only a handful of kids left. 

“Tracy, why don’t you go next?” Cas said, picking the girl’s hand out from the few others raised in the air. The girl smiled nervously and walked to the front of the room. Cas was impressed when she didn’t take a single piece of paper with her. 

“My poem is called _Weather Reports._ ” She said, her voice shaking a little, “And it’s from a Canadian spoken-word poet named Shane Koyczan.” 

Tracy took a breath and then began to recite her poem, though the lilt of her voice made it more like a conversation than prose. It was about someone who obviously loved a girl, but found other ways of saying it. Cas listened, enraptured, completely caught up in the gentle roll of Tracy’s voice and the words that were hopelessly romantic but in this simple, almost hidden way.  

Cas was mostly hiding the effect the poem had on him, until the last part:

_That winter you left me snow-blind;_

_Trying to find enough details that would let you know_

_That even though some people have perfect sight,_

_Those same people_

_Could try to paint you by numbers_

_And they **still** wouldn’t get you right. _

_You are Monet number two and Van Gogh number six_

_A mix-tape of Hendricks and a Leibovitz portrait._

_It makes no sense to me that we were ever together._

_But my makeshift weather reports were_

_The closest I ever came to telling you how I felt._

_But you were a lover of the miniscule; you dealt best with details_

_Weighing our relationship on scales_

_you balanced us out_

_And **always** made me feel needed. _

_You always asked me what to wear._

_And I would stare at you_

_As if for a second I wouldn’t answer._

_Of course I always did._

_Hid my affections in my response:_

_‘Wear that smile.’ I said._

_‘That one you wear when you see me, or that one you wear to bed.’_

 

Dean had stopped grading his papers. He was staring at Tracy, green-eyes glinting a little, his pen still held frozen in his hand. Goosebumps had covered Cas’s own skin, and it took a second before he finally swallowed and said,

“Thanks, Tracy. Great job.” Tracy gave him a relieved smile and walked back to her desk. Cas couldn’t help how his eyes flicked up to Dean’s, and they both blushed a little before Cas tore his eyes away again. 

“Next?”

 

xXx

Dr. Missouri Moseley’s office was actually a house, which sat on a quiet block near downtown. Dean didn’t know whether he preferred the house to an actual doctor’s office. On the one hand, a doctor’s office wouldn’t give him the impression of intruding in someone’s home. On the other, seeing a psychiatrist in such a sterile environment would have made him feel even more crazy. 

As it was, Missouri’s house was familiar to him now. He was familiar with the living-room-turned-waiting-room and the various pamphlets that spanned the table there. As he waited for his appointment, he tugged at the sleeve of his jacket as he looked over the pamphlets. There were titles like _Understanding Your Addiction, When Someone You Love Has Bipolar Disorder, The Parents’ Guide To Eating Disorders,_ and _Working Through The Twelve Step Program._ He shifted uncomfortably. 

Across from him, an older woman sat with a Kleenex balled up in her hand. Her eyes were a little red-rimmed. Being in these types of waiting rooms was different than waiting at the doctor’s. Sure, you were always wondering what other people were in for, but you didn’t have to worry about it being contagious. And while that in itself was sort of reassuring, it didn’t stop the twist in Dean’s gut when he saw the people with track marks on their arms or bandages on their wrists. 

Maybe other psychiatrist offices weren’t so bad. But Dean had only ever been to Dr. Mosely, mostly because she was covered under his work’s benefits, but also because she was the best psychiatrist in the city. You couldn’t just call her up and make an appointment; you had to be _referred._ There were other therapists and counselors for when people were having a rough time. But they sent you to Dr. Missouri Mosely when things got _bad._  

Missouri’s office door opened and a slip of a girl walked out. She was thin in the extreme, with shadows under her eyes and dressed in layers of baggy clothes. She lifted a pair of listless eyes to the woman sitting across from Dean, a minute gesture that had the woman clambering to her feet. Wordlessly, she pulled the girl into a hug before escorting her back out into the hall. Dean watched them sadly. 

When Dean heard the front door open and close, he let out a breath and dropped his head into his hands. 

 _I hate this place._  

The office door opened a second time and a wispy, soft voice said, 

“Dean Winchester?” 

Dean lifted his head. Missouri stood wearing a long, soft sweater and a patient expression. 

“I had a feeling I’d be seeing you again, boy.” She smiled. Dean forced himself to do the same. 

“What can I say, I guess I missed you.” He said. 

“Always the charmer.” Missouri shook her head, before gesturing over her shoulder. “Come on in.” 

xXx 

In order to form some sort of illusion of normalcy, Castiel had always lived his life within routines. Even despite his impermanent lifestyle. He read the paper every morning and did laundry on Sundays. He washed any and all dishes before bedtime and called Tanya on the weekends. He visited her every holiday and birthday if he could; always managed to buy her gifts that made her blue eyes light up and made his heart squeeze with joy and sadness at the same time. 

Now, his life had easily fallen into a steady routine that basically evolved around Dean. He would pick Cas up every morning for work in his rumbling, black car (if Cas hadn’t spent the night). As it was, though, Castiel spent hardly any time at his motel. Evenings were passed at Dean’s. They would quietly grade papers while they watched bad TV; Dean would cook Cas supper, and sometimes Cas would help but mostly he watched. They’d walk Lola in the early evening darkness, pointing out houses that already had Christmas lights up. One night, when they were still a few blocks away from Dean’s apartment building and snow had started falling, Dean had reached over and taken Cas’s hand. 

Cas had never felt like he really _belonged_ to anyone. He’d never had that type of relationship; where schedules and routines and just every day things were woven together because it felt better than being apart. He slept more often in Dean’s bed than his own; preferred Dean’s t-shirts to his own clothes. He knew where everything was in the kitchen and that you had to wiggle the bathroom door just right in order for it to close. 

It felt good. Cas absolutely thrived on being counted on; he liked being a part of someone’s life and taking care of them. So he couldn’t have been happier spending his Saturday afternoon walking Lola in the park, waiting patiently for Dean to be finished with his appointment at Dr. Moseley’s. 

He knew Dean’s feelings about the appointment were complicated at best. He hated admitting he needed help, despite how brave Cas thought he was for doing it. Dean was absolutely ashamed of needing to go to therapy at all, so Cas wasn’t offended when Dean had said he didn’t want Cas to go with him – even if Cas only waited outside in the waiting room. But Cas hadn’t wanted to wait at home, either, so they settled with the happy medium of Cas dropping Dean off at the house-turned-office and then taking Lola to the park nearby. 

By his estimation, Dean had had Lola for about three weeks now, and she was already growing bigger. Her legs were starting to get long enough to match her body, and her muzzle was slowly losing its puppy roundness, changing instead to hard angles. 

That by no means meant that Lola was acting like anything but a puppy. At the park, she constantly snapped at the snowflakes steadily falling around her, the sharp click of her teeth echoing in the cold air. Cas grinned at her. 

After about an hour had passed, she and Cas headed back to the small house with the large sign that read _Dr. Missouri Mosely, PhD._ The Impala still sat at the curb, its sleek black exterior dusted lightly with a layer of fresh snow. Cas let out a breath and leaned against it. His breath rose up in the air as he regarded the front of Missouri’s house with a worried expression. 

Dean hadn’t gotten into the specifics of _why_ he had started going to therapy. His explanation was, as always, short and to the point: he had depression and PTSD, therapy helped, and he was mostly going at the insistence of his mother and brother. Cas knew there were more complicated reasons. He just hoped Dean would tell him about them in time. 

Suddenly the front door opened and Dean stepped out. He glanced around at the snowy neighborhood before heading down the walk to the car, rubbing his hands together a little as he went. 

“How’d it go?” Cas watched as Dean bent down and offered Lola a perfunctory greeting scratch behind the ears. Dean glanced up at him, and Cas noticed that while his expression was still guarded, it was nowhere near as troubled as it had been before the appointment. 

“It went all right, I guess.” Dean straightened, eyeing Cas’s jacket before reaching out and pulling it a little tighter around him. Cas let him. “She wants to see me again. Not surprising.” 

Cas’s eyes didn’t stray from Dean’s face. “Do you feel better?”

Now, Dean stopped. Snowflakes settled on the shoulders of his jacket. “Yeah.” 

Cas smiled, and Dean gave him a quick, soft kiss before pulling open the passenger door. “Get in. I’m freezing my balls off out here.” 

Castiel vaguely remembered Dean saying something once about dogs not being allowed in the car. He figured that rule was good as dead now, considering Lola looked quite at home sitting on the passenger seat in between Cas and Dean. Her soft ears pricked up at the windshield wipers brushing snow off the glass and her bright blue eyes watched the passing cars with interest. Cas was quiet as they drove back down the streets toward Dean’s apartment, a soft sort of happiness spreading through him. 

The song on the radio changed, and Dean looked down at the dash. 

“Oh, this is a _classic.”_ He said, reaching out to turn the volume up. He looked over at Lola. “It’s your song, kiddo.” 

Cas watched as Dean started to sing along. 

 

_I met her in a club down in old Soho_

_Where you drink champagne and it tastes just like Coca-Cola_

_C-O-L-A Cola_

_She walked up to me and she asked me to dance_

_I asked her her name and in a dark brown voice she said Lola_

_L-O-L-A Lola_

_La la la la Lola_

 

The beat in the song kicked up and Dean drummed his hands against the steering wheel. Lola barked at him and Cas laughed, and Dean grinned, those crinkly lines appearing in the corners of his eyes. 

It was at this point, driving home through a Saturday afternoon snowfall, when Castiel realized that he was in love with Dean Winchester.

 

xXx 

As far as therapy sessions could go, Dean supposed his appointment with Dr. Mosely went pretty well. Sure, he hated having to actually talk about his various panic attacks and what had brought them on, but even he had to admit that the process was cathartic. Missouri Mosely was, as always, a patient listener and a straightforward talker. She didn’t waste any breath with psychiatrist jargon or empty reassurances. By the end of the appointment, Dean had a fresh prescription for SSRI’s and the firm command to come back for a follow-up. 

In actuality, the therapy session was the last thing on Dean’s mind. Truthfully, lately all he could think about was that poem that Tracy Bell had read out loud during Cas’s poetry class. It was as if Dean’s mind were on constant repeat: he could hear Tracy’s clear voice ( _It makes no sense to me that we were ever together; but my makeshift weather reports were the closest I ever came to telling you how I felt)._  

Dean remembered how his eyes involuntarily lifted at that. How they had settled on Cas. And suddenly he had been filled with this hope for a thousand different opportunities to tell Cas things like _take an umbrella, it’s supposed to rain_ or _let’s order in tonight_ or _remember we need to buy more coffee for tomorrow._  

As quickly as those thoughts came, Dean was practically bulldozed by another: the unquestionable realization that he was pretty sure he was in love with Cas. And it was really telling that Dean’s initial reaction to this was to simply curse vehemently. 

 _Fuck._   

He loved Cas. 

He was trying to feel anything but terrified about it. So on Saturday afternoon, driving home with Cas, he decided that the best way to deal with this fear was to face it head-on. 

After he’d made Cas crack up by singing ridiculously loud to The Kinks, he reached over and turned the volume down again. 

“So,” he said, glancing over his shoulder before changing lanes, “I know we haven’t really talked about this yet, but…” 

Dean’s eyes flicked over to Cas. The man was watching him patiently, soft affection warm in his eyes. Dean returned his gaze to the road. 

“I mean, it’s Thanksgiving next week.” He went on, ignoring the self-conscious blush creeping up his cheeks, “And I’m not sure if you have plans yet or anything. But my mom’s cooking a big supper, and Sarah and Sam are gunna be there. So I was thinking maybe you’d want to come with me.” 

The affection in Cas’s eyes grew, if possible, even stronger. “You’re inviting me over for Thanksgiving?” 

“Yeah. I mean, if you’re not doing anything else.” Dean rushed to say, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. Jesus, why did he have to sound like a nervous sixteen-year-old? 

Cas smiled at Dean in amusement. “What else would I be doing on Thanksgiving?” 

Dean shrugged. “I dunno, I wasn’t sure if you were seeing your kid or something.” 

“They’ll be at Norah’s parents’ in Idaho this year.” Cas said, and though his voice was tinged a little with sadness, there was no bitterness. “I’d love to spend Thanksgiving with you.” 

Dean felt a relieved grin spread across his face. “Ok. Good. But just be warned – my mom’s great, but she can get a little overexcited about stuff like this. I haven’t brought someone home since I was fifteen, so she’s bound to pounce all over you.” 

Cas smiled. “I’m sure I’ll survive.”

 


	18. Bad Dreams and A Fan Following

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YOU GUYS YOUR COMMENTS ARE SO AMAZING I LOVE YOU ALL. 
> 
> Anyways, in the spirit of the season, I figured I would update this story enough to cover Christmas. Which means I'll be dumping three chapters on you guys!! 
> 
> I'm not sure how much I'll be able to update in the next week or so, because I have a shit ton of writing to do for school before it starts again in January. But I'll try and keep on top of it as much as I can!

Dean rubbed absently at the bruise he knew was hidden beneath his dress shirt. Thanks to Uriel, there was still a tender blue-purple mark across his left rib, and it ached every time he breathed too deep. But Dean refused to complain. He never complained about injuries before – no matter how grave they were – and he’d be damned if he was about to start now. But if he secretly melted at the memory of how Cas’s lips had tenderly traced the bruise as they laid in bed that morning, then hey, that was his business.

His senior class was currently working on an in-class essay, and Dean had abandoned his own work in favour of doing some research on the iMac that sat on his desk. A quick search had revealed that on the market today, a ’67 Chevy Impala in Baby’s condition would go for about ten thousand dollars. He was secretly relieved it wasn’t enough to cover John’s debt. If she had been worth twenty, Dean wouldn’t have been in the position to refuse, and the thought of selling the car made him sick. 

He didn’t have any other valuable possessions. His apartment was a rental. His savings had been tapped to help pay for John’s funeral and to pay off his various other debts, like credit cards and the remaining mortgage on the auto shop. There was nothing else for Dean to sell or pawn or trade, so he irrevocably found himself at a dead end, staring at his computer screen with a panicked expression. He was so fucked.

“Mr. Winchester, Tracy and Krissy are passing notes.” Jesse piped up suddenly from the back row.

“Snitches get stitches, Turner.” Krissy threatened.

“Hey, hey.” Dean looked up from his computer. Krissy pursed her lips guiltily and slouched down in her seat, while Tracy balled a piece of paper up firmly in her hand. Dean glanced at Jesse. “She’s right, Jesse, no one likes a tattle-tale. Bell, bring it up.”

Tracy glanced up at Dean in utter mortification, and Dean raised his eyebrows at her. She groaned and made her way to the front of the class.

“What are you guys doing passing notes? It’s the twenty-first century.” Dean griped, holding out his hand. Tracy dropped the ball of paper in his hand, but she didn’t meet his gaze or answer him. She looked terrified.

“When we text, you take our phones away.” Krissy muttered grumpily. Dean glared at her, then returned his gaze to Tracy. He wasn’t all that upset about it, really, but the stress about John’s debt had put him in an off mood.

“Should I read it in front of the class?” He asked. Tracy’s eyes almost bugged out of her head.

“Please, don’t.” She said hurriedly, bright pink spots blooming on her cheeks. Dean crumpled instantly.

“Relax, I’ll let you off easy this time.” Dean said, placing the ball of paper near his keyboard. Tracy’s eyes followed it. “Just knock off the note-passing during class time, all right?”

Tracy nodded her head quickly, and Dean gestured for her to return to her seat. The class returned to its previous state of homework-initiated boredom.

Sighing, Dean reached for the mouse of his computer again before his eyes fell to the ball of paper. In his experience, these notes usually held one of three things: one: contact info for one of the school’s drug dealers, two: answers for the current homework, or three: a detailed drawing of a penis. Placing his bets on the second option, Dean reached over and began to smooth out the wrinkled piece of lined paper.

Nothing could have prepared him for what he found instead. Smoothing out the edges, Dean turned the paper a few times before his eyes were finally able to take in what was sketched carefully on the paper.

The first thing he recognized was the car. It was Baby, parked at an angle beside a snowy tree, a slow curl of smoke floating up from the exhaust. Leaning against the car was a rough, cartoonish sketch of a sandy haired and green-eyed man wearing a leather jacket and a smattering of freckles across his cheeks. Facing him, a blush warming his cheeks and blue eyes downcast shyly, was a dark haired man with a brown coat. They were holding hands. A pink heart was drawn above their heads.

Dean felt all the blood in his system rush up to his face. His cheeks were ablaze with a furious blush, so warm he could practically feel the temperature rising around him. His pulse began to pound in his ears.

 _It’s us,_ he thought in a panic. _She drew us. They know – the kids know._

Swallowing, Dean forced his eyes up to look at Krissy and Tracy, wondering which of the girls drew it. Both girls’ eyes were glued to their papers, but Tracy was blushing just as much as Dean.

Dean’s jaw flexed. He thought of calling Tracy up to the front of the class again, but then what? Demand she explain? That would only make things worse. He couldn’t punish her – not when he’d already let her off the hook. Changing his mind now would only make him seem petty.

Screwing his eyes shut, Dean realized how juvenile this anger made him feel. It was like being back in middle school all over again, blushing furiously on the playground while other kids taunted _Dean and Cas, sitting in a tree! K-I-S-S-I-N-G!_

Forcing himself to stay calm, Dean slowly turned the paper over on his desk before turning back to his computer. When the bell rang, he dismissed the class without comment.

xXx 

Castiel’s junior class was filing out into the hall when Dean suddenly barged in, his mouth set in a firm line. Cas raised his eyebrows at him.

“Something wrong?” He asked, keeping his tone neutral in case any of the students were to overhear. Dean glanced over his shoulder, watching the last few stragglers file out, before slamming a wrinkled piece of paper down on the desk. Cas frowned at it.

“Tracy Bell drew this during class today.” He said, watching impatiently as Cas slipped on his reading glasses and picked up the paper. Eyes narrowed, he took in the drawing of the Impala, and the two men standing beside it. The resemblance was obvious. Cas tilted his head at it.

“She drew you quite well.” He said. “Except she made you taller than me. Are you taller than me?”

Dean’s jaw flexed. “Seriously? That’s all you have to say?”

Cas bit back an amused chuckle. He set the drawing down on his desk and took off his glasses. “What do you want me to say?”

“They _know,_ Cas!” Dean’s voice was strained.

“We knew it was going to happen eventually.” Cas reasoned. “We’re not that subtle, Dean. We drive to and from school in the same car. We spend all our breaks together. I’m surprised it took this long.”

Dean didn’t reply, just let out a frustrated breath and pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers.

“Dean.” Cas’s steady voice made the word firm and grounding. Dean looked up at him. “I think you may be overreacting. I get that this isn’t what we planned, but…” Cas shrugged, glancing down at the drawing, “They’re not taunting us. Look.”

Cas held up the drawing, and Dean glared at Cas before reluctantly looking at it again. His green eyes moved over the steady lines of the car, the light shading of Cas’s blush, the dots making up Dean’s freckles; he took in the way their fingers were interlaced, and how the heart above their heads had brackets around it, as if it were beating.

“Okay. I guess it’s kinda cute.” Dean muttered demurely. Cas gave a relieved laugh.

“Tracy knows about us.” He agreed as he set the drawing down again, “But I don’t think she minds. Judging by this picture, I think she likes that we’re together.”

Dean was still glaring at the paper as he chewed on the inside of his cheek sourly. 

“Fine.” He said after a moment. “If the cat’s out of the bag, we might as well report this to HR. Fill out one of those damn workplace relationship things.”

“You don’t have to sound so excited about it.” Cas said in mock-offense, but really, he found Dean’s grumpiness endearing. Regardless, Dean softened, reaching over to run a finger down Cas’s cheek.

“Hey, you know this isn’t about you.” He said, his voice losing its edge. “I just like doing things on my own time.”

“I know.” Cas replied. “But things don’t always work that way. And all in all, I don’t think this is a bad thing.”

Dean was quiet for a minute, passing a hand over his mouth as he stared at the drawing. “No. I guess you’re right.”

“I know I am.” Cas said smugly, swiping up the paper. Dean held his hand out for it.

“Give it back. I’m gunna chuck it while I still have my dignity in tact.” He said, but Cas just held it out of Dean’s reach.

“No.” He replied stubbornly. “I’m keeping it.”

“You are not.”

“Am too. It’s cute.”

“Cas-” Dean lunged forward, scrambling for the drawing, but Cas held him off with one arm while keeping it out of Dean’s reach.

“Don’t be juvenile-” Cas shot back, but he was grinning, and there was a moment’s scuffle before a few students walked into the room.

“Uh, Mr. Novak…?” A small voice said, and both men froze. Dean stepped away from Cas, shooting him an icy glare, but Cas could tell he was already forgiven. Cas just lowered the hand with the drawing behind his back, regarding Dean with a smug expression. The students at the door watched in confusion.

“Fine.” Dean finally growled. He smoothed out his dress shirt then turned on his heel, muttering something about traitors under his breath before disappearing out into the hall.

xXx 

On the night before Thanksgiving, Dean had a nightmare for the first time in weeks. In the dream, he was in his mother’s house, and it was some holiday or other. He could hear Mary and Sam talking but he couldn’t see them; it was pitch black, and every time he tried to move, he found that he was boxed in on all sides. He could barely sit up straight.

That’s when he realized that he was trapped in the hall closet. The door was, as it had always been, locked from the outside. It was one of his father’s more paranoid exercises, brought over from his training days in the marines: he’d take to locking Dean in various locations around their apartment, and time him to see how long it would take for Dean to get himself out.

 _You need to know this, Dean,_ he’d said. _The world is filled with sick people. House invasions, kidnappings, wars – and I’m not always gunna be here to help you._

Now, he was locked in his mother’s house, and Dean didn’t know how to get out. John was dead. He couldn’t help him once the time was up. What would happen when the time was up? Right as this thought occurred to him, the cold end of a gun pressed against his temple and in the darkness Dean could make out the shining barrel of his father’s Beretta.

He pounded on the closet door until his fists ached and his knuckles bled. The gun never moved but he couldn’t see who was holding it; somewhere in the house, Sam and Mary were still talking, oblivious to Dean’s plight. He felt like his throat was splitting open as he yelled over and over _get me out, get me out, please get me out_ …

He woke up when he heard the click of the safety being turned off on the gun.

Dean sat bolt upright in bed, breath rattling in his lungs as if he’d been holding it for hours. He was drenched in cold sweat. Lola was huddled at his feet, watching him with her ears pressed flat against her head, and Cas was sitting up beside him, his hand resting on Dean’s shoulder.

“Dean, it’s okay.” He said, “It was just a nightmare. It’s okay.”

Dean was breathing heavily and he looked around. He took in the still-dark morning outside the window, the glowing numbers of his bedside clock, the bathroom door sitting ajar, Cas watching him with rumpled hair and alarmed blue eyes. His hands shook as he dragged them through his hair.

“Just a nightmare.” Dean repeated in a hushed, uneven voice. Cas’s grip on his shoulder tightened.

“Yes.” He said firmly. Dean brought his knees up to his chest and rested his forehead against them.

“It felt real.” He said shakily.

“I know.” Cas dropped his hand from Dean’s shoulder. Things were quiet for a moment as Dean caught his breath. Silently, Cas got up from the bed and rummaged around in Dean’s drawer, returning with a clean t-shirt. He offered it to Dean as he settled down beside him again.

“Thanks.” Dean muttered. He peeled the sweat-drenched and clinging t-shirt off of his skin and threw it on the ground, before pulling on the new one. The dry, warm fabric was soothing. His hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

“Want to talk about it?” Cas asked quietly. Dean shook his head.

“Not really.”

Lola sighed and rested her chin on Dean’s legs. Gently, Cas reached and cupped Dean’s face in his hand, his thumb stroking a soothing rhythm across his cheek. Dean closed his eyes and leaned into the touch.

 _Cas._ Dean breathed in the smell of him: the dark, musky scent that was always tinged with something sweet – like caramel or toffee. He leaned into the touch that was slowly becoming as familiar as his own. And suddenly this intense _need_ rose up inside him; the need to not think or feel, but just to be taken outside of his own head for a while, so he leaned forward and caught Cas’s lips in a desperate, needy kiss.

It took Cas a little by surprise, but he caught up easily. He swiped his thumb across Dean’s bottom lip, tugging at it a little until Dean let his mouth drop open. Cas licked into his mouth and Dean groaned softly.

Between breathy kisses and fevered touches, they peeled each other’s clothes off. Lola had the dignity to jump off the bed and retreat to the living room. Dean gave thanks that he got a dog who at least had a sense of propriety.

Cas pushed at the sheets with his feet until they were bunched at the foot of the bed, baring their hot bodies to the cool air of the bedroom. Dean lied back, whining lowly with need when Cas draped his body over him. He placed open-mouthed kisses to Dean’s fevered skin, trailing from his jaw to his throat to his collarbones. Placing his strong hands on Dean’s hips, Cas took each of Dean’s nipples in his mouth in turn, making the man arch his back up into him.

He moved his mouth down, over each of Dean’s ribs, trailing past the fading bruise before dipping into his navel. Dean moaned softly, his hand fisting through Cas’s hair. Hands still gripping his hips, Cas took Dean’s half-hard cock in his mouth, his tongue swiping past the slit. Dean whimpered and writhed, but Cas’s hands held him in place as he swallowed him down. Dean closed his eyes and his mouth fell open.

Slowly, the memories from the nightmare leaked away as his muscles began to tremble for completely different reasons. Cas’s mouth was hot and wet around him, but he still felt too exposed, too raw, too _empty._

“Cas,” He breathed, pulling at Cas’s hair. Understanding, Cas slid off Dean’s cock and moved up to cover his mouth with his own. Dean could taste himself on Cas’s tongue, and it sent blood rushing to his cock until it was aching and leaking against his stomach. _God,_ he’d never felt so needy in his life; it was as if his skin were itching with it.

Pulling back, Dean held Cas’s gaze steadily for a moment before turning in his arms, settling on his belly beneath Cas. Cas’s breath hitched, but he didn’t hesitate in dipping down, kissing and nipping lightly at the back of Dean’s neck.

Cas’s weight shifted and Dean heard the telltale sounds of the bedside drawer opening, along with the crinkle of a condom wrapper. But it all seemed to take too long, so Dean wiggled his hips a little and whispered roughly,

“Come on, Cas.”

And suddenly Cas was there, his knees between Dean’s spread legs as he pressed kisses to his shoulder blades.

“I’m here, baby.” He said quietly, and Dean closed his eyes because _fuck,_ those words had never sounded so good.

Dean expected to feel the push of fingers, but instead Cas’s hands settled on his hips and there was the sensation of fine, wet heat as Cas licked a steady stripe down Dean’s spine. His tongue was moving steadily lower, past the last knob of his spine and the indents of his hips, and Dean squeezed his eyes shut and he rested his forehead on his closed fists. _Fuck,_ he’d never done this before, but Cas was about to –

Suddenly Cas’s tongue was _there,_ spreading wet heat over the tight ring of muscle around Dean’s hole. Dean gasped, fisting the fabric of his pillow as he arched his hips back toward Cas’s mouth. His tongue prodded expertly until he slipped inside Dean and his insides were set on fire; he couldn’t help the needy whines that spilled from his mouth, babbling nonsense into his pillow.

Then Cas was leaning back and pushing a lubed finger into him, and Dean canted his hips up, pulling his knees up beneath him to get more balance. He was just about to ask for more but Cas was already ahead of him, pushing a second finger in along with the first and slowly scissoring him open. Dean let out a low, needy moan, feeling his neck and chest flush with heat.

“Please, Cas,” He breathed, his voice absolutely wrecked, and Dean felt the mattress shift as Cas moved into position. He settled one hand around Dean’s hip and the other on the back of his neck, grounding him with the contact. Dean felt the blunt head of Cas’s cock press against his hole, and Dean whimpered and wiggled his hips desperately. Taking the hint, Cas steadily pushed forward until he was fully seated in one smooth thrust.

Dean pitched forward, his arms shaking with relief at the feeling of Cas deep inside him. His mouth was open with a breathy groan, and Cas let out a hungry, low growl as he pulled out almost all the way and thrust forward again.

Dean let out a moan that sounded almost like a sob, but he thought distantly how this _so_ wasn’t what he had in mind. He wanted to be fucked mercilessly; wanted to be pounded into the mattress until his body hurt and he forgot his own name. Cas wasn’t doing that, though. He fucked into Dean hard and deep, and then pulled out slowly, the drag creating a burning friction that had Dean mewling beneath him. Cas’s forehead was resting between Dean’s shoulder blades, one hand bracing on the bed and the other bruising his hip. Dean lifted himself up a little on his elbows, shoving himself back to meet each of Cas’s thrusts.

Cas’s breath was hot against Dean’s back, and a slick sheen of sweat covered their bodies as they moved. Cas’s punishing angle struck Dean’s prostate each time, and Dean was seeing stars, his eyes screwed shut tight as wrecked noises fell from his lips. Cas kept him on that ledge for what felt like hours, fucking into him relentless and slow and deep, until Cas’s thighs were shaking and Dean couldn’t see straight anymore.

“Fuck,” Dean whimpered, resting his sweaty forehead on the mattress beneath him. “ _Please,_ Cas, I – I gotta…”

Cas pressed open-mouthed kisses to Dean’s spine and moved his hand around, fisting Dean’s cock in time with his thrusts. Dean didn’t last long after that, coming onto the sheets with a hard cry, his hands bunching the sheets in his hands. His body squeezed around Cas and Cas fucked him three, four more times before he was coming, his teeth biting down on the skin of Dean’s shoulder to muffle his cries.

Then they collapsed onto the bed, too fucked-out to care about the mess Dean had made of the sheets. Cas was going soft inside Dean, but he didn’t pull out yet. Instead, hands still braced on either side of him, he pressed tender kisses to Dean’s neck, shoulders, and then cheek. Dean sighed, his eyes closed and body boneless.

“Better?” Cas asked quietly. Dean nodded lazily.

Carefully, Cas pulled out and tossed the used condom in the trash. Then he sidled up beside Dean, brushing his sweat-damp hair away from his forehead. Dean turned and curled into him. Cas held him tightly, and within moments Dean’s breath evened out as he fell back asleep.

xXx

 

Cas woke right before the sun. Dean didn’t. They were a mess of limbs and blankets, the room smelling of sex and sweat, but for whatever reason Cas didn’t mind it. He watched the sun rise slowly.

He’d never, not once in his life, met the parents of someone he’d been dating. He’d only ever really tried dating when he was in college, and even then, the relationships had never lasted long. There was always some reason or another. It had just never felt right. 

Now, though, Cas’s stomach was a fist of nerves over the thought of meeting Dean’s mother. He could tell she was obviously very important to Dean – arguably the only positive parent-figure he’d ever had – and Castiel was desperate not to screw this up. Dean would not take it lightly if his mom didn’t approve of him or their relationship.

As far as Cas was aware, Mary knew that her son was bisexual. That part wasn’t what worried him. Cas was worried that Mary would confirm what Castiel had suspected all along – that Dean could do better.

When the sun came out in earnest, reaching across the sheets and spreading over their still bodies, Dean finally stirred. He blinked a little, squinting at the light in confusion before stretching slowly. He winced.

“Fuck.” He muttered sleepily, glancing down at his naked body. There was a bruise in the shape of fingers on one hip, and Cas could see bite marks covering his neck and shoulders.

“Sorry.” Cas whispered sheepishly, watching Dean take inventory after the night’s events. “I think I got over-excited.”

Dean chuckled. “Don’t apologize, Cas. I like it.”

Dean reached over and pressed a quick kiss to Cas’s waiting lips, but Cas only frowned a little in worry. Dean had never used sex as something to distract from bad memories and unwelcome feelings before. Cas hoped he wasn’t going to make a habit of it.

Dean tilted his head a little, a gesture Cas knew he’d picked up from him. He frowned at Cas’s worried expression. “What?”

Cas pursed his lips. He wanted to talk to Dean about this, but maybe now wasn’t the time. But he couldn’t lie so he picked a different truth instead. “Do you think your mom will like me?”

Dean rolled his eyes and laughed a little as he ran his hands through his hair. “She’s gunna love you. Trust me. You’re smart, you have a steady job, and you’re cute. What’s not to like?”

Cas narrowed his eyes at him. “You think I’m _cute_?”

“Sometimes.” Dean admitted. “Most of the time you’re just sexy as fuck, but I don’t want my mom to think that about you.”

Cas laughed softly. “I guess not.”

Dean smiled, rolling to hover over Cas and give him a slow, affectionate kiss – morning breath be damned.

“I’ll shower first.” Cas said when he pulled away. “You go start the pie – you said you were making it this year.”

Dean gave an exaggerated pout. “Can’t I shower with you?”

Cas looked at him sternly. “No, because we’ll both get distracted and fuck until the hot water runs out. Then you’ll have no pie for dinner, and your mother will hate me for it.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “I don’t think that would happen, but I get your point.”

He rolled out of bed reluctantly, pulling on a thin pair of flannel pajamas before heading for the kitchen. Cas watched him, wondering what it was about the morning that was making his heart ache so goddamn much.

xXx 

Dean was making an apple pie. At first he worried that the choice was too expected, too _cliché,_ but then he thought no American in their right mind would turn their noses up at apple pie. So he figured, fuck it.

He didn’t even need a recipe to make one. Dean thought wryly how his dad was probably rolling around in his grave, knowing that his oldest son could bake a pie crust without having to be told how; how he was spending his morning with flour and butter smeared all over his hands instead of engine oil or grease. But then Dean felt the ghost of last night’s nightmare creeping up the back of his neck, and he decided his dad could go fuck himself, for all he cared.

Lola sat against the kitchen cupboards at his feet.

“Don’t look at me like that.” Dean said to her. Her nose twitched as she scented the air, taking in the smell of butter and salt. “You can’t eat pie dough. You’d get sick, and then I’d have to spend Thanksgiving at the vet’s office while they pump your stomach. You think I got money for that?”

Lola’s head tilted and her ears perked up. Dean smirked at her.

Suddenly, the sound of an unfamiliar ring started coming from near the front door. Dean and Lola both turned toward it and Dean frowned. He reached for a dishtowel and rubbed the flour off his hands before following the sound.

It was coming from inside of Cas’s brown coat. Dean glanced over his shoulder toward his bedroom, but he could still hear the shower water running. Cas always took ridiculously long showers, but as far as Dean knew, showers, sex, and sleeping late were the few pleasures that Castiel allowed himself in life. Dean wouldn’t complain when the guy decided to take his time.

Biting his lip a little, Dean rummaged around in the pockets until he came up with Cas’s black iPhone. It was still ringing. The screen didn’t reveal a name, but just a number from somewhere outside of Lawrence’s area code.

Dean knew he should just ignore it. It wasn’t his phone, and Cas could call whoever this was back after he got out of the shower. But it had been ringing for a ridiculously long time – what if it was an emergency?

Telling himself the burning curiosity in his gut had nothing to do with it, Dean swiped the screen and held the phone up to his ear.

“Castiel’s phone.” He said, lip quirking up a little at the way the name rolled off his tongue. There was a pause on the other line.

“Ummm,” A tiny voice drew the syllable out, “Is my dad there?”

Dean blinked and straightened, looking over his shoulder again. “No, uh… he’s busy at the moment. Can I get him to call you back?”

“Okay. Who’s this?” The girl’s voice was curious more than anything, and right away Dean was reminded of the inquisitive lilt to Cas’s own voice when he’d tilt his head and narrow his eyes.

“I work with your dad.” Dean hedged. “My name’s Dean.”

“Oh. My name’s Tanya.” The girl replied brightly. Dean couldn’t help a small smile.

“Hi, Tanya.”

“Daddy and I always call each other on Thanksgiving, especially if he’s away.” She explained. “But no one else has answered his phone before.”

Dean couldn’t help the hum of satisfaction he felt at this.

“Are you and my dad friends?” Tanya asked suddenly.

“Uh, yeah, I guess so.” Dean answered dumbly. In truth, kids sort of freaked him out. Teenagers he could handle. He seemed to understand them, their frustrations and curiosity and attitude. Kids were harder; they _noticed_ more.

“Dad doesn’t have many friends.” Tanya went on. “Mom says it’s because he’s _introverted.”_ Her little voice tripped a little around the big word, but Dean could tell she was immensely proud at being able to say it. He chuckled softly.

“Hey, being introverted’s not so bad.”

“ _I’m_ not shy at all.” She said truthfully. “I’m friends with everyone in my class, even Jenny Miller, except everyone else hates her because she gave Rodger Moody _chicken pox.”_

Dean laughed a little, and he smirked at Lola. _Look at me,_ he thought. _I’m making friends with a six-year-old._

“That’s no good.” He said. “Chicken pox are the _worst.”_

“I haven’t gotten them yet.” Tanya said proudly. “But mom says you can only get them once. She’s never had them either, but she says Daddy had them when he was little.”

Dean’s eyebrows quirked up in amusement. “Really?”

“Yeah. Have you gotten chicken pox yet?”

Dean frowned as he thought. “Um, no, I don’t think so.”

“Are you a teacher like my dad?”

Dean blinked. How the hell did people keep up with kids’ attention spans? “Yep.”

“What do you teach?”

“Literature.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means… books. Reading.” Dean explained.

“Oh. Like _The Hunger Games?_ That’s my favourite book.”

Dean frowned. Wasn’t she a bit young to be reading that book? “Yeah, like _The Hunger Games._ I like that book too.”

“Katniss is my favourite. I dressed up as her for Halloween.” Tanya said excitedly.

“Katniss is pretty awesome.” Dean agreed. Suddenly, Cas appeared in the kitchen, his dark hair damp and smelling of shampoo. He frowned at Dean curiously, eyeing the phone in his hand.

“Hey, you’re dad’s here now.” Dean said, throwing Cas an apologetic glance. Cas didn’t look mad, though. “Want to talk to him?”

“Yes please!” Tanya nearly squeaked. “I wanted to spend Thanksgiving with _him_ this year, but my mom says that we have to go to Granddad’s in Idaho because he’s old. But I don’t like him. He smells weird and all his cookies have _raisins_ in them.”

“Raisins are gross.” Dean agreed, and Cas rolled his eyes before holding out his hand for the phone. “It was nice talking to you, Tanya. Here’s your dad, okay?”

“Okay. Bye!”

Dean bit back a smug smile as handed Cas the phone. Cas raised an eyebrow at him before holding the phone up to his own ear.

“Tanya?” He asked, and Dean turned back to his pie dough, though he listened quietly to Cas’s end of the conversation. “Hey sweetie… I know, but mom promised we’ll spend it together next year…”

Cas’s voice was soft and affectionate, and warmth pooled in Dean’s stomach as he listened to it. He loved when Cas’s voice melted like that: like when he was talking to Lola or when he whispered loving words against Dean’s skin in the early morning. It was so beyond him, how people could just _soften_ like that. Did Dean’s voice melt when he talked to Cas, did his eyes warm with affection when he touched him? He hoped they did; for the first time, he hoped his body betrayed him and just showed those emotions, seeing as how he had no idea how to communicate them outright.

Dean focused on molding the dough to a pie tin as Cas finished talking with Tanya. When he hung up, Dean said,

“Sorry. I wouldn’t usually just answer your phone, but it had been ringing for ages, and I thought maybe it was an emergency…”

Cas leaned against the counter beside Dean, taking his usual post of watching Dean make food instead of trying to take part. “It’s all right, I don’t mind. I’m sorry Tanya talked your ear off, she can be… exuberant.”

Dean couldn’t help a grin. “Don’t worry about it. She seems cool.” He looked up at Cas. “But seriously, you guys let her read _The Hunger Games?_ That book is pretty graphic for a kid.”

Cas sighed. “After she saw the first movie, she insisted. She’s an incredibly stubborn child.”

Dean snorted softly. “Wonder where she got that from?”

Cas smirked at him. “Me, I suppose. Her tendency to talk without taking a breath, however, comes from her mother.”

Dean laughed a little, and then they were quiet for a few moments.

“She seemed to like you.” Cas said softly. Dean looked up at him.

“Yeah? Cool.” He said, warmth spreading through his limbs. Dean knew Cas liked him a lot, but it couldn’t hurt to have the daughter seal of approval, right? Even if she was probably only a few feet tall and didn’t know what the word ‘literature’ meant. “She’s talkative, but… she sorta talks like you.”

Cas squinted in amusement at the blush warming Dean’s cheeks. “How?”

Dean lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “I dunno. Like with this smart curiosity. She seems like a bright kid.”

“She is.” Cas agreed warmly. “She’s ahead of her class, but she doesn’t want to move up a grade. She’d rather stay with her friends.”

Dean nodded. “Makes sense.”

Cas watched as Dean began to layer apples in the piecrust.

“Would you like to meet her sometime?” Cas asked, so quietly Dean thought maybe he’d misheard. He froze, a slice of apple poised in his hand as he looked over at Cas.

“Seriously?”

Cas nodded.

“Are…” Dean started, then took a breath and tried again, “I mean, yeah, I’d love to. But are you sure? That’s a huge step, Cas.”

Cas replied evenly, “I know.”

Dean’s eyes were caught in vibrant blue ones. He dropped the apple he was holding and wrapped his hand around the back of Cas’s neck, flour and butter be damned, to press a soft kiss to his lips.

“Whenever you want, I’ll be there.”

Cas smiled in relief, and Dean realized that was the first time he’d ever said that to anyone and meant it.

xXx

Mary Winchester was beautiful. That was Castiel’s first thought upon meeting her. She had long blonde hair that was slowly fading to grey, but the effect was flattering. He noticed the same crinkles around the corners of her eyes that Dean had. Her smile was warm.

When he stepped into the entryway of a pretty house on the other side of town, he breathed in the smell of cooking food. The day outside had turned bleak and cool – they were calling for an unseasonably cold winter – but inside it was warm and bright. It sent a pleasant shiver across Cas’s skin.

This wasn’t just a house, Cas realized, it was a _home._ Growing up with his family meant that he knew the difference.

Mary pulled Dean in for a hug, and Cas just watched with a strange sort of envy in his gut. When they pulled away Dean gestured to Cas a little nervously and said,

“Mom, this is Cas.”

Cas smiled politely even though his nerves were fraying with anxiety. He had outgrown his tendency to over-stress years ago, but it was coming back a hundred-fold now.

He expected Mary to shake his hand, but before he knew it she was pulling him in for a hug as well. Cas let her, though he looked over at Dean with something like alarm on his face. Hugs weren’t a thing in his family. He recalled his mother putting a Band-Aid on a scrape on his knee when he was about seven years old, but that was as far as affection went in his household.

Dean gave Cas a reassuring (and slightly amused) smile, and Cas timidly hugged Mary back. With a small breath, he realized how nice it felt. The embrace was somehow warm and reassuring and her perfume smelled like vanilla.

“Cas,” She said, patting him on the back a little before pulling away, “I’m so happy to finally meet you.”

Cas swallowed, forcing his nerves to steady as he replied, “You, too.”

“I thought I was going to have to badger Dean for at least a few more weeks before he caved.” She said, shooting her son a glance. Dean rolled his eyes, but Mary just returned her gaze to Cas. He tried not to shift uncomfortably.

“He’s cute.” She said after a moment, as if surprised. Dean blushed immediately.

_“Mom.”_

“What? I’m just saying!” Mary shrugged. “Now come on. I could use your help in the kitchen.”

Mary’s house was bright and noisy and warm. Castiel could see old school portraits and family photos sitting on random shelves, and a strange sort of ache blossomed in his chest when he picked out Dean’s freckled face.

As Dean helped his mom cook supper, Sam and Dean kept up a steady stream of teasing and banter, and Sarah and Cas just watched them in amusement. Lola was running around at everyone’s heels and constantly getting into the miscellaneous plants Mary had around the house.

Mary was stirring a pot of homemade gravy – who the hell even knows how to make homemade gravy? – when she looked over at Cas.

“So,” She said, “Dean told me you work at the school, but I don’t know what subject you teach.”

Castiel swallowed, trying to be okay with so much attention directed at him. “Writing and Composition.” He said, and thank God his voice didn’t betray how nervous he felt.

“Oh. That sounds interesting.” Mary said earnestly.

“Cas is a _great_ teacher.” Sarah put in, and Cas felt a surge of affection for her. “All the kids love him.”

“The kids love _all_ you guys.” Sam said to them. “You teach the fun subjects.”

Dean scoffed as he cut up vegetables for a salad. “I don’t think my kids consider essays _fun.”_

“Okay, well maybe not you.” Sam amended. “Your kids just like being taught by a life-size Ken doll.”

Dean reached over to cuff Sam up the side of the head, but his younger brother ducked out of his reach.

“Be nice, you two.” Mary scolded as Sarah rolled her eyes.

Mary asked Cas all the expected questions – where he was from, what his family was like – and Cas tried to answer as truthfully as he could without just flat-out revealing that he came from one of the most dangerous crime families in the country. Whenever he talked, though, there was a constant exchange of glances between him and Dean. Mary watched those tiny interactions between them with sharp eyes. Castiel knew that, while she was being perfectly polite toward him, she was still sizing Castiel up. He recognized the same protective guard in her eyes that he’d seen in Sam’s when he’d met him.

Supper was almost ready, and Sarah was setting the table when she said suddenly, “I think I should warn you guys – a couple of my students were talking about you two the other day.”

Dean stood up abruptly from checking on the turkey in the oven.

“What? Who?”

Sarah frowned a little as she thought. “Marie Sarife. The junior? Apparently she and her friend Kristen saw you fixing Cas’s tie the other day out by your car. They were practically squealing over it.”

Cas bit back a smile as he looked at Dean. He could care less about what the students thought. He didn’t have anything to hide, and he knew the school was more LGBT-friendly than most places in their part of the country. But he sort of enjoyed watching Dean squirm under the kids’ attention. Getting Dean out of his comfort zone was a good thing, and this seemed like a safe way to do it.

As it was, Dean’s face was beet red. Sam raised his eyebrows at him.

“What?” Dean demanded. “His tie was crooked!”

“You don’t have to get so defensive about it.” Sarah chided him. “The kids _love_ you two together.”

“We know.” Cas said, and Dean gave him a warning glance but he went on, “Tracy Bell drew a picture of us the other day.”

Sam burst out laughing and Mary looked at Dean. “A picture?"

Dean glared at Cas before turning to his mother. “It was nothing. Just a stupid cartoon.”

“It was adorable.” Sarah was smiling. “She drew Cas all blushing and Dean with freckles, and they were _holding hands.”_

“Wait, how you do you know?” Dean frowned at her and Cas dipped his head guiltily.

“Cas showed me.” Sarah replied. Dean turned an icy glare at Cas, and he raised his eyes slowly.

“I’m sorry, but it was a nice drawing, and Sarah _is_ the art teacher.” Cas reasoned evenly, though he was blushing now, too.

“You kept it?” Sam asked Cas, obvious glee written all over his face. Cas nodded.

“I thought it was cute.”

“It _is_ cute.” Sarah agreed and Dean grimaced. Mary looked at him in sympathy while Sam tried to control his laughter. “I just thought you should know, though. You guys practically have your own fan following now.”

Dean groaned but Cas just smiled a little. Given the amount of ridicule and threats he’d endured as a teenager over his sexuality, having fans didn’t sound like a bad thing.

“Well, Dean’s reaction isn’t surprising.” Sam said. “You don’t seem that bothered by it, though, Cas.”

Cas shrugged. “I’m not. I don’t care who knows – I’d hold Dean’s hand in the halls, if he’d let me.”

Now, Mary gave Cas a slow, affectionate smile and the guarded look in her eyes slipped a little. Dean crossed his arms and looked at Cas with a challenging expression.

“That might take a while.” He said stubbornly. Cas just looked at him evenly.

“I’ll wait.” He said simply.

xXx 

Mary loved Cas. Dean wasn’t surprised. His mom started out protective and polite, but by the time Thanksgiving supper was served, she’d warmed up to him faster than she’d warmed up to anybody the boys had brought home – including Sarah.

She talked to Cas about books and travelling, and she watched the way he and Dean interacted closely. Her sharp eyes always caught when their fingers would brush or when they’d exchange quiet glances, and her eyes shone with approval when she did. Dean wasn’t sure what she was seeing between them, but whatever it was, she liked it.

At one point in the night, when Dean and Mary found themselves in the kitchen on their own, she said simply, “If you keep him, I won’t mind.”

Dean smiled in relief, though he wanted to reply _you mean if he keeps me._

The only time when Mary’s eyes clouded a little with concern was when Cas talked about his family. Dean wondered if it was obvious that Cas was leaving out more than he was telling. At the very least, Mary knew that Cas didn’t see his family – wasn’t even technically a part of it anymore – and that it hadn’t been a happy split. But Dean was struck a little when he realized the worry in her eyes wasn’t for Dean or his relationship with Cas, but for Cas himself.

Castiel, on the other hand, took in everything at Thanksgiving with bright eyes and a timid smile. The house felt cozy and warm and Dean wondered how often Cas had spent the holidays in some strange city on his own. So when Cas talked about the family that had willingly disowned him, Dean found himself hoping that maybe Cas would stay long enough to find a new one.


	19. Slow Dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is super angsty, but everything will work out, I promise. 
> 
> The slow song I have in mind is "The End" by Macklemore, but you can imagine whatever song your little heart desires.

_“Arms folded, myself I didn’t know yet_

_Until you came over, stood by me, you posted_

_You put your hand out like I was stranded_

_Tried to pull me out on that dance floor_

_I stepped backwards_

_See I wasn’t ready yet; but you were my medicine.”_

_\- Macklemore & Ryan Lewis, “The End”_

 

Before anyone was really aware of it, December came. The school’s halls were filled with festive decorations and every radio station played Christmas music. The Home-Ec classes made gingerbread houses and posters for the winter dance were plastered up around every corner.

Dean was hardly aware of any of it. December just meant that January was getting closer, and with that, the deadline for his father’s loan. His skin prickled with anger whenever he thought of Uriel’s threats and his insistence that Cas be gone by the New Year; he couldn’t shake the fear that Cas would eventually listen. Dean had bad dreams in which he’d wake up to find his bed empty and Cas’s motel room vacated. 

The thought of paying off the loan didn’t give him any relief. A stubborn voice in the back of his head insisted _that would be letting them win,_ but he didn’t see any other options.

During his free period one chilly morning, Dean closed his classroom door and ventured down into the computer lab in the basement.

Charlie was sitting across from a giant iMac, a pair of ear buds in and her red head bopping along to the music. Dean waved his hand in front of her face.

“Bradbury.” He said loudly. “Get your game face on, I gotta talk to you.”

Charlie shot him a glance as she pulled the buds out of her ears. “Oh, look who decided to drop by! Finally remember that your best friend might want to see you once in a while?”

Dean rolled his eyes at her annoyed tone. “I see you every day. We work together, remember?”

“Don’t lie to me, Winchester.” Charlie narrowed her eyes at him. “You’ve dumped me and Benny in favour of the Sexy Boyfriend, and you know it. It’s okay – I know how it is.”

Dean grimaced. “Look, I know I’ve been busy. I’ll make it up to you, okay? But right now I need a favour.”

Charlie sighed, but she let Dean pull up a computer chair and sit down beside her. “Then how can I help you, young Padawan?”

“Let’s say that – hypothetically – a guy wanted to electronically steal a fair amount of money.” Dean hedged. “How hard would that be?”

Charlie raised her eyebrows. “You want to electronically steal money?”

“Not me!” Dean said quickly. “ _Hypothetical,_ remember?”

Charlie rolled her eyes. “Please. You have a terrible poker face.”

“I have a good poker face.” Dean muttered despondently. Charlie just turned to her computer.

“How much are we talking about?”

“Twenty-five thousand?” Dean phrased it like a question. Charlie whipped around to look at him.

“Holy shit, what kind of trouble are you in?”

“ _I’m_ not in any trouble.” Dean replied shortly. “But my dad is, and as always, his problems are my problems.”

Charlie narrowed her eyes at him. “You know your dad is dead, right?”

“Jesus Christ, Charlie – _yes,_ I’m aware.” Dean passed a hand over his eyes. “I don’t want to get into it, okay? But he owed some guys twenty-five thousand, so now _I_ owe twenty-five thousand. And obviously, I don’t have it.”

Charlie’s pale brow was creased with concern now. “What happens if you don’t pony up?”

“I dunno. Use your imagination.”

“Wow.” Charlie said emphatically. Dean squinted at her.

“What?”

“Nothing. It’s just…” She glanced at Dean, “Even from the grave, your dad has managed to screw you over, yet again.”

Dean’s jaw flexed. “Can you help me or not?”

Charlie took a breath, glancing at her computer screen uncertainly. “Dean, you know I’d do anything for you. But… just _stealing_ electronic funds isn’t exactly feasible.”

Dean blinked. “Why not? I’ve watched you hack into CIA databases.”

“Yeah, but all I’m taking is info.” Charlie reasoned. “I look things up and then get out. I never take anything. I think you’re forgetting how advanced technology is now – everything can be tracked, especially when you do things online. If I were to cheat the system at a bank, or even transfer money from some random rich corporation’s account into yours, the trail will lead back to you. Honestly, you’d be better off putting on a ski mask and robbing the closest liquor store.”

Dean was quiet as he processed this. Charlie glared at him.

“Do _not_ rob a liquor store-”

“Relax, I’m not robbing anybody.” Dean griped, before letting out a frustrated sigh. Charlie watched him sadly.

“You know, I have some savings, and a lot of the fan merch I’ve collected over the years is pretty valuable. Maybe if we just pool our resources…”

Charlie’s voice trailed off as Dean started shaking his head. “Charlie, I appreciate the thought, but I’m not going to make you pawn your most prized possessions.”

“Then what are you gunna do?”

“I dunno. I’m royally boned, basically.” Dean shrugged hopelessly. “Baby is only worth ten grand, and she’s the most valuable thing I own.”

They were quiet for a while, Charlie absently tapping the head of her Hermione bobble-head doll. Dean glanced around her desk at all the random geek-type merchandise she had littered there, and his eyes came to rest on a stack of CDs. One was labeled _D + C mix._ He frowned at it.

“What’s that?” He asked. Charlie followed his gaze, and then moved to swipe the CD off her desk.

“Nothing.” She said quickly, but Dean was quicker – he grabbed the CD and held it above his head.

“ _Bradbury_ …” He said lowly, dangerously, and Charlie swallowed.

“Don’t be mad?” She asked in a tiny voice. Dean’s eyes narrowed. “It was just an assignment I did with my seniors. Nobody burns CDs anymore! It’s a lost art! So I let them burn their own mixes for extra credit. Bonus points if they incorporate a good theme.”

“Why does it say _D + C?”_ He demanded, though his gut told him he already knew.

“For ‘Dean and Cas’.” Charlie replied in defeat. “Siobhan made it.”

“Son of a _bitch_.” Dean growled, throwing the CD down on the desk again. “A music mix? Seriously?”

Charlie shrugged. “You guys inspired her.”

Dean groaned. “This is getting ridiculous.”

“Dean, from what you just told me, you’ve got bigger problems than having shipper students.”

“Having what now?”

“You know,” Charlie waved her hand around impatiently, “They ship you guys. As in relation _ship._ ”

“Whatever.” Dean pinched the bridge of his nose. “This day has been a total bust. I’m still up shit creek without a paddle, and my students are drawing Cas and me with hearts for eyes. Freaking great.”

“Don’t be so grumpy. Aren’t all the Christmas decorations cheering you up?”

“Ba humbug.” Dean muttered as he stood up. Charlie pursed her lips at him.

“Do you want my advice?” She asked suddenly, and Dean stopped and looked at her. She took it as a queue to go on. “I know you’re doing better now, but… I mean, I don’t think you’ve ever really made peace with your dad dying. So maybe after you figure this out, you should just… I dunno. Let him go. He’s fucked up your life enough, Dean. Don’t let him do it from the afterlife too.”

Dean was quiet, studying Charlie’s open and honest face a moment before nodding. Charlie gave him a small smile and turned back to her computer, satisfied that she’s said her piece.

Dean went to leave, but then he hesitated. He turned back and quietly swiped the CD labeled _D + C mix_ off her desk, hoping that Siobhan at least had good taste in music.

xXx 

Depression got worse in the winter. Everybody knew that. Even Cas, who had dealt with nothing but some minor anxiety as a kid. He was naturally an over-thinker, but he’d learned to manage that with time. Dean, however, seemed hell-bent on never admitting that the cooler season was pulling a fog back over his eyes.

The longer nights meant less sunlight, and even when the sun came out, it was masked by wintry and overcast skies. Cas watched warily as Dean’s complexion became pale and his usually vibrant eyes grew tired. He talked less and slept more. The stress over how to pay back John’s debt didn’t help and it seemed to be the only thing Dean could think about. He woke constantly from nightmares, and his reaction to them was always the same: to somehow coax Castiel into fucking him so thoroughly that he had no choice but to succumb to a dreamless sleep afterward.

On the second Wednesday in December, they had their first fight. Dean was quiet and surly on the way back to his place, his jaw tight as he attempted to maneuver the slow-moving traffic. Snow had turned to slush in the streets and everything looked dirty and brown.

“Maybe I should go back.” Cas said for what felt like the tenth time. He didn’t like the idea, but it seemed like the best they had. “Uriel can be cruel, but maybe my father would be more lenient. He could reduce the debt, or just let us go-”

“Dammit, Cas, _no_.” Dean’s voice made the words biting and cold. “You said yourself your father wanted nothing to do with you after finding out you were queer. And you think he’s gunna take it easy on me because I’m your _boyfriend?”_

Cas frowned, his face dark and stormy. “Maybe he’s had a change of heart.”

“Don’t count on it.” Dean muttered. “Dead-beat dads don’t change. I know from experience.”

“My father isn’t like yours.” Cas shot back. “He may be a criminal, but he has _some_ sense of integrity.”

It was a low blow, he knew it was, but Cas couldn’t help it. As far as he was concerned, everything that was currently wrong was John Winchester’s fault. Dean huffed angrily but he didn’t reply. They spent the rest of the drive in silence.

At Dean’s, Cas was playing with Lola and Dean was grading papers when he suddenly threw his pen down.

“Fuck it.” He growled. “Maybe I should just whore myself out again.”

“Don’t say that.” Cas said firmly. “I wouldn’t let that happen.”

Dean scoffed. “Yeah, because that’s totally in your power.”

Cas’s frown deepened, and he glared hard at Dean without saying anything. Dean met his gaze stubbornly.

“What?” He asked after a moment.

“I’m just trying to figure out why you’re so hell-bent on self-destruction.” Cas said, an edge working its way into his voice.

“What are you talking about?” Dean demanded, turning to where Cas was sitting on the living room floor.

“You know what I mean.”

“No, I don’t. You always talk in freaking riddles.” Dean’s face was starting to heat up with anger.

“I’m trying to help you, Dean, but you seem as reluctant to receive my help as you always are.” Cas stood up slowly, his fiery blue eyes trained on Dean’s face.

“Help for _what?_ I never asked you to take care of me.” Dean stood up too. Cas narrowed his eyes at him.

“No you didn’t, but I _want_ to. Why won’t you let me?”

“Because I don’t need your help!” Dean shouted, and Lola’s ears flattened in fear. She ducked beneath the coffee table. “I survived for a long time before you came along, what makes you think I can’t do it now?”

“Because you can’t!” Cas was shouting now, too. “Do you honestly think I don’t notice? The nightmares, the silences. You’re slipping again, and what’s worse is you’re so damn stubborn that you don’t want to admit it.”

“You know what you signed up for. So maybe if this is getting too _hard_ for you-”

“Then what? Leave?” Cas challenged, taking a step toward Dean. Dean tilted his chin up and met his gaze.

“I’m not stopping you.” He said, his voice quiet but laced with venom. “Better sooner rather than later.”

“You’re unbelievable.”  Cas shook his head, turning away from Dean to run his hands through his dark hair in frustration. He turned back to Dean again. “Not everyone leaves. Sam, Charlie, Benny, your mom – they’re all still here! Why is it so hard to believe that I’ll stay, too?”

“Because I can’t. Okay?”

“No. That’s not good enough.” Cas shook his head.

“I don’t know what you want me to say.” Dean squeezed his eyes shut in frustration.

“Say that you’ll let me help you.” Cas took a step toward Dean, but Dean backed away. “Say that you trust me, that you’ll start _talking_ to me about whatever’s bothering you.”

This was, apparently, too much. Dean growled in frustration, swiping at the empty glass that had been sitting on the coffee table and sending it toward the wall, where it shattered. “You can’t ask that, Cas. You can’t just barge in here, up-turn my life and fucking demand that I pour my heart out like we’re a couple of teenagers at a slumber party! Who gave you the fucking right?”

Cas scowled at him. “ _You_ did! You agreed to take part in this relationship; you agreed to _try._ But you’re not trying anymore, you’re…”

Cas trailed off. Dean just looked at him, breathing heavily.

“What?” He asked, his voice suddenly tired. Cas took a short, frustrated breath. For a few minutes they just looked at each other, the fight draining out of both of them but the anger still static in the air.

“Yeah, well, call me when you figure that one out.” Dean bit out, turning away and stalking to his room.

“Dean…” Cas’s voice was quiet, a plea, but Dean didn’t turn around. Cas winced when his bedroom door slammed so hard the walls shook.

He stood for a few moments, deliberating between waiting Dean’s anger out and going into the room after him. He knew the latter option would have a horrific outcome, but he didn’t like the former, either. So he just pulled on his jacket, grabbed his keys and phone, and walked home.

For the first time in years, Castiel didn’t sleep at all. They both spent the night with their phones beneath their hands, waiting for a call or text that never came.

xXx 

Dean woke up from a nightmare at five in the morning. His bed was empty.

It was not a good start to the day.

Knowing he had absolutely no chance of falling back asleep, he took Lola for an early-morning walk and then took a thirty-minute shower. The water was so hot it turned his skin pink and steamy, but it didn’t leech the tension from his bones. His and Cas’s fight stuck to him like a fever.

Dean drove to the school early. A part of it was because he figured he could use the extra time to figure out some lesson plans, but mostly it was because he just wanted to see Cas already. He’d had fights before, but they didn’t feel like this. They didn’t leave him shaky and sick; he was dying to pull Cas to him and say _I’m sorry, I’m stupid, please don’t leave_ and he couldn’t stand the fear that it was maybe too late.

By the time other teachers started to arrive, Dean was practically falling asleep with his chin propped in his hand. His lesson plans were open on his computer screen but they were untouched, and the coffee he’d grabbed from the lounge sat cold and forgotten by his keyboard.

Suddenly, there was a soft _thunk,_ and Dean cracked open his eyes to see a tall cup of Starbucks sitting at his elbow. He looked up.

Cas stood by his desk uncertainly. There were shadows under his eyes, and the scruff lining his jaw was a little thicker than usual. His blue eyes looked at Dean nervously.

Dean felt his breath leave him in a whoosh.

“Cas,” He breathed, and then he was standing up. He thought about pulling him in – for a hug or a kiss, he didn’t know which – but he hesitated. It didn’t matter though, because Cas did it for him. He fit his hand around the back of Dean’s neck and pulled him in gently, pressing his lips against Dean’s softly.

Dean physically melted, the tension finally – _finally_ – leaving him. Cas’s breath came out in a stutter, and he let Dean deepen the kiss as his grip on his neck tightened a little.

When they finally pulled away, Dean felt weak with relief. He rested his forehead against Cas’s and closed his eyes, just breathing in the smell of him.

“Shit, Cas, I’m sorry.” He whispered. “I was being an asshole.”

Cas moved his hand to Dean’s cheek and ran his thumb across his skin. “No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t push you.”

Dean took another shaky breath, reaching out and tugging a little at Cas’s tie. “It’s okay. I know I need to talk more. I just… I haven’t for so long, and it’s like I forgot how.”

Dean could feel Cas’s concerned frown. “I know.”

They were quiet for a few moments, just breathing in the smell of each other.

“Fuck, I missed you.” Dean whispered, his eyes still closed.

Cas chuckled softly. “You seemed very angry. I wasn’t sure you wanted me around.”

“I always want you around.” Dean said. “I just get mad sometimes, and I don’t know what to do about it. So I just start yelling until eventually everyone leaves me alone for a while.”

“Do you want to be left alone?” Cas asked, his breath ghosting across Dean’s lips. Dean squeezed his eyes shut a little tighter.

“Not really.” He replied tightly.

“Good. Because that was the worst fucking night I’ve had in years.” Cas admitted, and Dean laughed weakly. Then Cas was pulling him in again, kissing him slow and soft, and Dean’s chest felt like an open wound that was slowly being stitched back together.

Then there was a soft knock on the door, and Dean and Cas stepped away from each other, though it wasn’t as hurried as it would have been a few weeks ago.

“Sorry,” Charlie said sheepishly, “I just wanted to catch Dean before he got into hard-ass teacher mode.”

Dean rolled his eyes, but he still felt too raw from the morning to really be annoyed. “What’s up?”

“I’m here to call in that favour.”

Dean frowned. “What favour?”

“You came to see me for a favour last week, and now I need one back.”

Dean rubbed his forehead. “Charlie, that favour was to help me steal twenty-five thousand dollars, which we did _not_ end up doing. Hence, no favour.”

“Well, whatever,” Charlie wave her hand dismissively. “I’ll owe you one, then. Bottom line: I’m supposed to chaperone the winter dance tomorrow night but I need to bail. Like, _badly.”_

Dean groaned. “No. No freaking way.”

“Oh, come on, _please?”_ Charlie clasped her hands together so that she was literally begging. “I finally scored a date with that hot chick from the comic book store, and she wants to take me out Friday night. If I have to cancel on her I might die of self-pity, I swear to God.”

Dean narrowed his eyes at Charlie.

“I have to chaperone anyways.” Cas supplied, and Dean looked over at him. “So you might as well. Then we could be miserable together.”

“See? Cas is going!” Charlie’s eyes were shining with hope. “Please please _please?”_

“Alright, fine.” Dean said, and Charlie jumped up and down in glee. “But you owe me, Bradbury.”

“Anything you want.” Charlie said, “Oh my god, you’re the best, I love you!”

Dean sighed. “Yeah. I know.”

 

xXx 

Cas felt like he was walking through land mines. Even though he and Dean had technically made up that morning, he still felt like there was a throbbing bruise somewhere inside his rib cage. And Dean was being sweet and affectionate again, but Cas was always aware that just one wrong step could set everything off again.

He told himself he was being paranoid. It was their first fight, and first fights always felt weird and worse than they actually were. Right?

At the end of the day, when they finally made it back to Dean’s apartment and Dean closed the door securely behind him, Cas reached out and fit their mouths together as if he were starved for it. But for whatever reason, the contact just made the ache in his chest stronger.

Dean pulled Cas in eagerly. He let his back hit the wall behind him as he kissed him, his hand fisting into the fabric of Cas’s shirt. Cas pulled Dean’s bottom lip into his mouth, the rawness in his heart making the action rough and needy, and Dean groaned a little.

Cas worked to pull Dean’s jacket off him. As he did, his hands fumbled near the pockets and a crumpled piece of paper got caught between his scrambling fingers. He looked down, meaning to toss the paper onto the kitchen counter but when he saw the neat writing on it he stopped.

“What’s this?” He asked as he frowned down at it. Dean followed Cas’s gaze.

“It’s nothing.” He said shortly, moving to grab the paper from Cas, but Cas stepped back and out of his reach. He smoothed the paper out and read the heading: _Dr. Missouri Moseley, PhD_. Beneath it, a messy scrawl wrote, _Cipralex: Escitalopram, 20mg x 6 refills._

Stormy blue eyes flicked up to Dean. “Is this a prescription?”

Dean ducked his head. “I just haven’t gotten around to filling it yet.”

“It’s dated for before Thanksgiving.”

“I’ve been busy.”

Cas opened his mouth to say something, but then snapped it shut again, anger making the words catch in his throat. The air around them was instantly thick and electric, like the crackling air before a thunderstorm.

“So you mean to tell me,” Cas began quietly, his voice tight with frustration, “That you’ve had a prescription for drugs that could be helping you for _weeks,_ but you’ve been too _busy_ to fill it?”

Dean shook his head and pulled his jacket off forcefully. “I’m not having this conversation right now.”

Cas scowled at him. “Well, as you so often like to say, _life’s a bitch._ We’re having this conversation.”

Dean threw his jacket down on a kitchen chair and turned to Cas. “I’m just not ready to be on meds again, okay?”

“But they helped last time, right?”

“Yeah,” Dean said grudgingly, “After weeks of nausea. And it fucked up my sleep schedule. And even after they worked… I didn’t feel like myself, Cas. They made me foggy and weird.”

“But they got you back on track.” Cas reasoned. Dean shook his head.

“You don’t understand.”

“Then help me.”

“I can’t…” Dean huffed in frustration. “I don’t know how to explain this. Just don’t push me, okay?”

“I’m not _pushing_ you.” Cas frowned. “It’s quite simple. Your psychiatrist gave you meds and she expects you to take them.”

“And I will!” Dean said defensively. “Just not right now.”

“Why not?”

Dean started to say something, and then stopped. He ran his hands through his hair. His dark and brooding eyes were fixed on the floor in front of Cas and Lola whined from inside her crate.

“Dean,” Cas said after a moment, “Taking meds doesn’t make you weak or crazy-”

“I know that.” Dean snapped. “You don’t have to explain this to me like I’m a freaking child.”

“Then stop acting like one.” Cas threw back, and he knew it was an immature remark but he felt like he couldn’t help it.

“Look,” Dean said, finally meeting Cas’s gaze, “I was just… I was sort of hoping that I would pull it together before I needed them.”

Cas shook his head. “That’s not very realistic. You’re making things difficult for yourself unnecessarily.”

Dean squeezed his eyes shut. “God, would you stop talking to me like a fucking therapist? I’m your boyfriend, not a patient.”

Cas took a step back. “Well, I honestly don’t know what you want me to do right now.”

Dean took a breath and returned to scowling at the floor. “Yeah, well that makes two of us.” He muttered, before retreating back to his room again. This time, he didn’t slam the door, but just closed it quietly.

After a few seconds, Cas heard the shower water turn on. He chewed on his lip a little before moving and letting Lola out of her crate. He took her outside for a short walk and then fed her supper.

When he knocked timidly on Dean’s door, there was no answer. He pushed the door open softly.

Dean was curled up on his bed, a pillow wrapped in his arms and pressed to his chest. He wore a pair of boxers and a fresh t-shirt and his hair was still wet, and Cas watched as his chest rose up and down evenly.

The ache in Cas’s chest bloomed and grew. He thought of just going back home again, but the possibility of another miserable, sleepless night was more than he could bear. And then he remembered what Dean had said that morning – about always wanting Cas around, even when he got mad. So Cas decided to stick this one out.

Sighing, he settled down on the couch and tried to work through the papers he had brought home to grade. But he was exhausted – emotionally, physically, mentally. So within minutes he had collapsed onto the couch and fell into a restless sleep.

He woke up sometime after midnight. He stirred a little to discover a hard and immobile weight against his back. Twisting his head and opening his eyes blearily, Cas could make out the shape of Dean pressed to his back. His lips were parted a little with sleepy breaths, and his brow was creased even in sleep. But his arms were wrapped around Cas tightly, and Cas pressed back against him gently, before closing his eyes and falling back asleep.

xXx

They weren’t angry the next morning. Things were just… quiet. Dean made coffee and Cas accepted it politely; they took turns showering and avoided each other’s gazes. The way they’d gravitated toward each other throughout the night was indication that they would rather work things out – would rather work anything out, if they were honest – but the truth was that they just didn’t know what to do next.

For all that Dean accused Cas of being stubborn, he knew he could be pretty stubborn himself. His jaw was tight that entire day at school, and when he wasn’t dragging himself through lectures and lessons he was mentally running through a list of _why_ he was right to postpone taking his medication.

He knew he was being childish. He knew the reasons were nowhere near good enough, and sometime in the late afternoon he finally admitted to himself that Cas – that smart bastard – was right.

He didn’t know how to say that, though. Luckily he didn’t have much of a chance. He was trapped at the school even after classes were out, assisting Benny in putting up last-minute decorations. Cas was helping Sarah hang up a snowflake mural made by the sophomore art students on the other side of the gymnasium, and Dean watched him morosely. Benny frowned at Dean from where he was hooking up a rented bubble machine.

“Trouble in paradise?” He asked. Dean snorted by way of reply, but he didn’t say anything. In truth, nothing about his and Cas’s relationship could be classified as _paradise,_ but that was why Dean loved it so much. Cas had a way of making flaws beautiful.

“Why did we even rent a bubble machine?” Dean griped, steering the conversation away from him and Cas. “It’s a winter dance – you know, snow and Jack Frost and candy canes _._ Not Glenda the Good Witch.”

Benny shrugged. “Beats me. Closest thing we could get to a snow machine, I guess.”

xXx

Cas was scowling at a snowflake that dangled in front of his nose. He’d never been to a school dance in his life. As an adult, he’d always managed to weasel his way out of chaperoning them before. As a teenager, he’d regarded them with barely concealed mortification. As far as he was concerned, they were just an excuse for kids to sneak booze into school and grind against one another. As a teenager, Cas wasn’t overly fond of the “popular” music other kids listened to. More than anything else, though, dances were just a glaring reminder that he was different. The nineties hadn’t been an overly open-minded era. Taking another boy to a school dance would have been suicide.

Not that he ever asked anyone, or got asked.

“Cas,” Sarah said suddenly, breaking through his morose reminiscing. He blinked at her.

“Yes?”

“I asked if you knew how to hook up this sound system.” She said, gesturing to a large table heaped with equipment. “Charlie was supposed to do it – she was the one who organized the music.”

Cas looked at the mounds of chord warily. “I’m not all that good with technology.”

Sarah laughed softly. “It’s okay, me either. Together, though, we should be able to figure it out.”

Reluctantly, Cas helped her sort through the mess. As he did he glanced up across the gym. Dean was leaning against a wall and talking to Benny, his dress shirt rolled up at the sleeves to showcase his faded tattoos. Cas thought of how that inked skin felt beneath his lips. Dean’s eyes suddenly flicked up and their gazes locked, but then Cas dropped his eyes to his hands.

“Cas?” Sarah asked again, her voice quieter this time. “Are you all right? You seem quiet today. I mean, more than usual.”

Cas pursed his lips. “It’s nothing.”

“Come on,” Sarah prodded gently, “You can talk to me. We’re practically family, now.”

Cas’s heart warmed hopefully. _Family._

He sighed and said, “It’s just… this,” He glanced up at Dean, “Is turning out to be more difficult than I anticipated.”

Sarah peaked up at Dean too, then returned her gaze to where she was plugging a thick chord into Charlie’s sticker-littered laptop. “Dean can be a difficult person to understand. But once you get past that… he’s worth it, trust me.”

“I know he is.” Cas said quietly. “I’m just trying to get _him_ to see that.”

Sarah hummed in sympathy. “Can I tell you something?”

Cas looked over at her. “Of course.”

“I’ve known the Winchesters for a while, now. And I’ve seen Dean live through some rough shit. So now he can be a little hard and rough around the edges, but…” She shrugged a little. “I’ve never seen him soften with anybody. Not ever. Except you.”

Cas’s hands stalled where he was untangling a few stray chords.

“Please don’t give up on him.” Sarah said quietly.

“I wasn’t planning on it.” Cas said truthfully. Sarah looked up, searching his face a moment before nodding.

xXx 

Dean had been to only one school dance. And that was his prom, and he only went because Cassie _insisted._

Dean had hated it. They played shitty music and his tux felt weird and didn’t fit right. He ended up getting stoned with Andy behind the gymnasium. Cassie had not been impressed.

Now, though, he was surprised to see that the kids from Lawrence Private seemed to enjoy the school dance a lot more than kids usually did. Maybe it was because they were freed from the usual constraints of their school uniforms. The gym was a mass of high-waisted skirts and skinny jeans and Christmas sweaters. The fact that Charlie had selected the music meant that the tunes weren’t half-bad. The walls were covered in paper snowflakes and bathed in frosty blue light, and though Dean and Benny could faintly smell weed coming from the back gymnasium doors, they collectively decided to let it slide. Given their own track records, they weren’t in the position to judge.

Dean spent the entire dance leaning numbly against the back wall, arms crossed tight over his chest. Benny leaned loyally beside him, and they passed the time mostly in silence, though occasionally they’d poke fun at a particularly ugly Christmas sweater or a nerdier song that came over the speakers.

Across the gym, near the table that held the punch bowl, Cas stood with Sarah. Dean would peak over at them periodically. He was a little worried that they were talking about him, but really all he could think about was that he wished he and Cas were standing together.

Suddenly, an up-beat Taylor Swift song smoothed out into something slower that Dean didn’t recognize. A few students trickled hastily off the dance floor, but others quickly paired up. Dean watched with a strange sort of melancholy as girls places their hands on boys’ shoulders. Some of them blushed delicately and looked down at their shuffling feet, while others looked in each other’s eyes boldly.

Dean’s eyes slid over to Cas. Suddenly, he entertained the fantasy of an alternate world where he and Cas had met in high school. He imagined what Cas would have looked like with a younger face and wide blue eyes; he thought of walking into a dance just like this one with Cas’s hand clasped in his. He wondered what song they would have danced to, and thought of how he probably would have stepped on Cas’s feet. But Cas wouldn’t have cared.

“Ah, young love.” Benny said suddenly, breaking into Dean’s thoughts. Dean looked over at him.

“Yeah.” He said stupidly. He scratched at the slight stubble along his jaw, then asked, “You ever go to dances like this in high school?”

Benny shook his head. “Nah, they weren’t really my thing.”

“Me either.” Dean muttered. His eyes were fixed on Cas again.

“Jesus, you have got it _bad,_ brother.” Benny said suddenly. Dean glared at him.

“What?”

“Don’t play dumb.” Benny scolded. “We’ve been standing here for an hour now and all you’ve done is make sad puppy eyes at Cas.”

Dean’s jaw flexed. “Your point?”

“My point is, whatever the hell you did to get into the dog house,” Benny replied, “Or _he_ did – just fix it already, for Christ’s sake. You two look so miserable it’s making me sick.”

“It’s not that easy.”

“Why not?” Benny challenged. “From where I’m standing, you’d rather be together than apart. So fix it. End of story.”

Dean tore his eyes away from Cas to glare at Benny again, wondering how the hell the guy got away with making something so complicated sound so easy.

xXx 

Cas didn’t know what the purpose was of chaperoning this dance. The kids still got away with practically groping one another on the dance floor, and though Sarah stood guard over the punch bowl it was obvious some kids were getting their kicks from other sources. All the dance seemed to be doing was offering him the opportunity to pointedly avoid Dean’s gaze. Because if he didn’t, he wasn’t sure he would be able to _not_ cross the gym floor and kiss away the sad frown on Dean’s face.

Sighing, he looked out at the sea of swaying students. It was a slow song. Across the gym, Krissy Chambers leaned against the wall beside Tracy Bell. Tracy turned to her, whispering something in her ear, and Krissy laughed. When Tracy turned to look out at the dance floor again, Krissy’s eyes stayed glued to her face. There was something wistful there; a longing, and Cas’s heart melted a little. Maybe there was a more secret reason as to why Krissy wasn’t dancing with anyone else.

xXx 

It was late by the time Dean and Cas got back to Dean’s apartment. The warmer winter weather had broken to frost again and a light snow was falling outside of the living room window. There was no tree or Christmas decorations up in Dean’s apartment – he usually didn’t put any up. He never really minded until now.

He sighed, tugging off his jacket as Cas went to let Lola out of her crate. She bounded around the living room, grabbing her dinosaur toy in her teeth proudly as her tail wagged happily. Dean smiled a little at her, but the gesture seemed to take more energy than he was willing to give.

The apartment was dark except for the light by the door. Neither of them bothered to turn any more on. Cas leaned against the wall and crossed his arms, looking more tired than Dean had ever seen him. He wanted to take Cas in his arms and kiss that exhaustion away; he wanted to awaken the hunger that so often seemed to sit just below Cas’s surface, but he wasn’t sure he should. So he just leaned against the wall opposite from him and crossed his own arms.

For a few moments things were utterly quiet. Not the dangerous sort of quiet, like it had been for the past few days, but more like the calm _after_ the storm, if there even was such a thing.

“Do you think there were kids at the dance who are like us?” Cas asked suddenly, his voice so quiet Dean almost missed it. He blinked.

“What do you mean? Fighting?” He asked. Cas gave a short, humorless laugh.

“No. Like… _us.”_ He said again, gesturing a little between Dean and himself.

“Queer?” Dean asked after a minute. Cas nodded. “Probably. I mean, there has to be.”

Cas was quiet for another second, his teeth worrying his bottom lip. “I wish they could have danced.” He said after a moment. Dean’s heart ached.

“I know.” He agreed quietly. Cas just looked down at his feet, his brow creased in something like pain or sadness – maybe both. Dean felt like something inside of him was breaking.

Quietly, he moved into the kitchen. The CD labeled _D + C mix_ was sitting near the coffee maker, forgotten from when Dean had first taken it. He grabbed it and popped it into the old CD player he still had sitting on the counter.

By some lucky coincidence, the first song that came on was slow. Dean didn’t recognize it, but it sounded nice enough so he turned the volume up a little before walking over to Cas.

Cas didn’t look up. Dean held out his hand.

Slowly, Cas lifted his eyes until they rested on with Dean’s.

“Please.” Dean whispered, and Cas knew that this was more than the request to dance. Swallowing a little, he lifted his hand slowly and slid it into Dean’s waiting palm.

Dean didn’t really know how to dance. It didn’t matter. Cas rested his forehead against his temple, a shuddering breath leaving his lungs as Dean pulled their clasped hands to his chest. His other hand moved around to Cas’s back and Cas did the same, soaking up the warmth he felt beneath Dean’s shirt.

Slowly, they swayed back and forth to the music coming from the stereo. Dean’s eyes slid closed and he breathed in Cas’s smell. Their stubble rasped together from where their cheeks brushed, and it felt so good and familiar that it made Dean’s chest constrict. His hand held onto Cas’s hand tighter.

The snow continued to fall outside, and everything felt – for the first time in days – quiet and calm. There wasn’t a hint of frustration or tension in Cas’s muscles now, and Dean had felt the fight leave his own bones hours ago.

He thought of Benny’s voice when he simply said, _fix it._

And as he and Cas turned slowly on the spot, dancing in that darkened and hushed living room, he thought, _I will._


	20. A Better Christmas

 

Cas pulled a little at the gloves on his hands. His breath rose in a fog in front of him, and his nose was filled with the smell of pine and frost.

“What about this one?” He asked, pointing to a tree stuffed hap-hazardly between two Douglas Firs. 

“Jeez, Cas, that thing looks about ready to fall over.” Dean griped.

“So? Nobody else will want it.” Cas reasoned, eyeing the tree with affection. A few of the branches were brown, and pine needles were scattered on the ground beneath it.  

“Okay, let’s call that one a backup.” Dean said, pulling Cas farther down the aisle of Christmas trees. Other families were milling around, young kids squealing as they chased each other around the branches. Dean hadn’t wanted a Christmas tree – he said his apartment was too small, and Lola was bound to knock it over – but Cas had insisted. And, Cas was realizing, Dean was a sucker when it came to things Cas wanted.

“How about this one? It’s on sale.” Dean asked, tugging a little at the branches of a thicker and somewhat taller tree. Cas squinted at it.

“It looks… quite full.”

Dean laughed. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

Cas chewed the inside of his lip, looking over his shoulder at the sickly tree they’d left behind. As he did, he saw a young family eyeing up the tree Dean was admiring.

“I think someone else might want this tree.” Cas said, turning back to face Dean. Dean looked at him, then glanced at the family behind them. He groaned.

“Fine, Linus, let’s get the dying tree.”

Cas tilted his head. “Linus?”

Dean blinked at him. “A Charlie Brown Christmas?”

Cas shook his head. “I’ve never seen it.”

“Are you kidding me?” Dean’s eyes widened. “It’s a Christmas classic.”

“My family wasn’t big on Christmas.” Cas admitted, looking down at the tree with a wary expression.

“Well, then that gives me no choice but to make you sit and watch every Christmas movie known to man.” Dean said firmly. “Now come on, let’s get that tree before some other sappy weirdo buys it.”

Castiel grinned.

xXx 

Dean’s apartment was littered with cardboard boxes and tangles of Christmas lights. Cas’s decrepit tree sat propped up in a stand near the living room window, and Lola was nosing at the lower branches with interest. She was wearing a ridiculous red-and-white striped collar that had bells, which Cas had insisted they buy for the holiday season.

All of the old and sentimental decorations were at Mary’s, so the ornaments Dean had were brand new. Cas was currently working at hanging them on the branches, leaving the tangle of lights for Dean.

Dean watched him affectionately as he popped open the cap of his medication. He was supposed to take them every night because they made him a little drowsy. He’d only been taking them for a week, so the less-than-appealing side effects were still bothering him. He got nauseous in the afternoons and he always seemed to be tired, but he knew that would even out with time. In reality, Dean just wanted the _positive_ effects to kick in already. But when he’d gone to the pharmacist the first time, he had reminded Dean that the medication would likely take a few weeks to kick in – maybe a month.

Dean joined Cas at the tree and began working to untangle the mess of lights.

“So how come your family never celebrated Christmas?” He asked. Cas shrugged.

“We did, just not in the way normal people do.” He said. “Ironically, my father is a religious man. Christmas meant going to midnight mass and praying around an Advent calendar. We received a few gifts, but it wasn’t anything extravagant.”

Dean pursed his lips. “That sounds pretty shitty, man.”

“I didn’t see it that way.” Cas admitted. “I just didn’t know what I was missing, to be honest.”

Dean was quiet as he considered this. “Christmas in my family wasn’t huge, either.” He said. “But we still got presents, and my mom would bake all kinds of Christmas cookies. Dad usually got loaded off spiked eggnog, but it was Christmas so he was in a good mood. We never had many decorations, but I remember one year he brought home this wreath made out of beer cans.” Dean couldn’t help but laugh. “Turns out he stole it from the liquor store.”

Cas cocked an eyebrow at him. “That’s a happy memory for you?”

“It’s hilarious.” Dean said. “Hell, I wouldn’t have minded if my dad was just a stupid drunk. It was the mean drunk part that sucked.”

Cas was quiet as he thought this over.

“So if you’re dad’s a religious guy,” Dean went on, “Any hope he’d cut us slack in the spirit of the season?”

Cas shot him a wry look. “I don’t think so.”

“Do you have any sisters getting married?” Dean began stringing the lights on the tree’s pitiful branches. Lola watched them curiously. “If we asked him to let us off on the day of her wedding, he couldn’t refuse.”

Cas frowned at him. “Why?”

Dean’s shoulders drooped. “Jesus, haven’t you ever seen _The Godfather?_ Marlon Brando, Robert Duvall?”

Cas shook his head wordlessly. Dean rolled his eyes.

“We gotta work on your cinematic education, man.”

“We try watching movies together.” Cas argued, hanging another ornament on the tree. “We just never end up actually _watching_ it.”

Dean’s cheeks warmed. “Touché.”

“But…” Cas hesitated a little then went on, “Our time _is_ running out, Dean. Uriel will be back in a little over a month.”

“I know.” Dean’s voice was a little tight, but he was nowhere near as panicked as before. “I got a plan.”

Cas looked at him. “What is it?”

Dean shrugged. “Fuck it.”

“That’s your plan?” Cas asked, his voice deadpan.

“Yep.” Dean answered, finishing stringing the lights near the bottom of the tree. “They can come for us at the end of January, and I’ll tell them flat-out I don’t have the money. It’s not my debt, anyways. And you can stay here however long you want – you’re a grown-ass man, they can’t decide shit like that for you.”

Cas lowered his arms from where he’d been lifting another ornament. “Dean, I don’t think you know just _what_ exactly my father could do to us if-”

“Cas, forget it.” Dean said stubbornly, his hard green eyes meeting Cas’s. “I’ve spent too much of my life being pushed around by fucking assholes. I can’t do it anymore; I’m gunna fight for this, and for you.”

Cas gave a hard, unsteady breath. “You’re sure?”

Dean’s eyes never strayed from his. “Yes.”

xXx 

Dean absolutely insisted that Cas spend Christmas Day with him and his family. Cas was unsure; he tried to remind Dean that they had only been dating for two months, and he didn’t want to impose. But Dean was quick to reason that sure, in technical terms two months wasn’t a long time. But what they had didn’t feel like just an average relationship; it felt like they were making up for lost time, as if in some other life they were meant to be doing this for years already.

Norah and Tanya would be in Idaho again for the holidays (something about this being Norah’s dad’s last Christmas) so Castiel had nowhere else to go, anyways. It only made sense he spend Christmas with Dean.

Charlie didn’t have any family either, and apparently it was a tradition for her and Dean to have drinks at Pam’s. This year, though, Dean brought Cas and Benny had his new girlfriend Andrea, and Charlie ended up bringing the girl from the comic book store – Gilda. It was bright and warm and Cas drank probably more beer than he should have, but Dean had his hand on his knee under the table and the bar was playing Christmas music, and for the first time in a while everything felt good and _right._

When they got back home, snow was falling again and the tree was the only thing lighting up Dean’s otherwise darkened apartment.

“See?” Cas said, shucking off his jacket and shaking off the cold, “This place would have looked empty without a tree.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Dean said, his cheeks pink from the cold and the beer, “You were right. As always.”

Cas laughed. The alcohol made him fuzzy and giddy, and he pulled Dean toward him, kissing the frost away from his lips. Dean tasted like beer but it was manly and pleasant. Cas ran his hands up his neck and around to his hair, tugging a little at the strands that were damp from the snow outside.

Dean deepened the kiss hungrily. His tongue swiped past Cas’s lips and licked up the roof of his mouth, earning a low groan, and Cas’s hands pulled a little at the collar of Dean’s red and blue flannel shirt. Dean’s hands moved down to his hips and he pulled Cas’s body flush against him.

“Bedroom.” Dean growled, nipping a little at Cas’s lip, “Now.”

Cas felt like they couldn’t move fast enough, but once they were shut safely away in Dean’s room, everything seemed to slow down. They dragged each other’s clothes off, lips following in the trail of hands, reverently kissing each inch of newly exposed skin. Cas gently pushed Dean down on the bed and tugged his jeans low over his hips; he pressed open-mouth kisses to his navel and that sensitive bit of skin near the dip of his hips. Dean sighed, his hands running through his hair slowly.

Once his jeans and boxers fell to the floor, Cas tugged off his own and climbed onto the bed overtop of Dean. He captured Dean’s mouth in a claiming kiss and Dean arched up into him, his hands smoothing up the planes of Cas’s back and Cas thought he could probably live a thousand lifetimes with Dean and never, ever get sick of this.

Cas trailed his mouth down, past Dean’s jaw and to his throat, his eyelashes sweeping softly against Dean’s skin. He felt roughened skin beneath his lips and opened his eyes to see a faint but familiar scar marring Dean’s otherwise perfect stretch of neck.

“What’s this scar from?” He asked softly, his lips brushing against skin. Dean blinked.

“Bar fight in college.” He replied in a detached voice. “Some asshole took a broken beer bottle to my neck.”

Cas’s forehead wrinkled with a delicate frown, and he kissed the scar softly before continuing down. He pressed butterfly kisses to Dean’s clavicle and moved to his shoulders, where there were a few tiny, circle-shaped scars pressed into the space between his right shoulder and neck. Cas had noticed them before, but he hadn’t said anything.

“And these?” He asked now. Dean swallowed thickly and his hands stuttered a little where they caressed Cas’s back.

“Cigarette burns. My old man,” He said quietly, not looking at Cas, “He, uh… walked in on me jerking off to one of those firemen calendars? Wasn’t too thrilled about it.”

Cas squeezed his eyes shut, kissing each angry circle tenderly in turn. Then he continued down Dean’s chest and to his ribs, and Dean’s breathing picked up but he didn’t stop him.

On his left side, there was a jagged scar running from his ribs to his hip. Cas looked up at Dean and he supplied,

“Surgery from a broken rib.” His lip quirked up with a pained half-smile. His eyes looked haunted. “Dad’s work again.”

Cas pressed his lips softly to it, and then kept going. Dean’s scars weren’t overly noticeable, especially not if you gave his skin a passing glance. But Cas had spent too many nights memorizing every inch of him, and he knew the various bits of damaged and injured skin, though he hadn’t dared mention it before.

Now, though, Dean willingly explained every scar. There was a stripe on his thigh from where John had gotten drunk and clumsy with a blowtorch. One calf had been split open from when Dean had had to fight off some drunken frat boy’s advances in a dark alley. Dean obeyed Cas’s request that he turn over, and Cas saw the rippled scar on his shoulder blade from where John had thrown a beer bottle at him. And the marks from stitches at the small of his back from when John had pushed him into the side of a car.

Cas kissed every inch of them. His touch was soft and coaxing, and though Dean’s eyes were closed and his breathing was pained, his body remained soft and pliant. Cas kissed his way up Dean’s back and to his neck, his hands sliding up Dean’s body slowly. Dean turned his face into the pillow and shifted his hips, widening his stance a little for what he assumed Cas wanted. But Cas just turned him in his arms until they were face to face, then kissed him deeply, trying to pour every ounce of adoration into that simple act.

Dean’s lips started out hesitant but they soon turned deep and loving, his fingers digging a little into the skin of Cas’s back.

“You’re beautiful.” Cas whispered, and Dean immediately looked away, a blush rising to his cheeks.

“Don’t say that.”

“Why not? It’s true.”

Dean looked back up at Cas, taking in his determined expression and bright eyes. He must have figured it was better not to argue with him, because he just leaned up and caught Cas’s lips in his own.

Slowly, the kiss turned from tender to heated. Dean’s hands travelled down and grabbed at Cas’s ass and Cas arched into him, their hardened cocks sliding together and punching the breath from their lungs. Slowly, Cas shifted and hitched Dean’s legs up around his waist.

He prepped Dean slowly, dragging moans and tiny huffs of breath out of his lungs. And when Cas finally pushed into him, feeling Dean’s hot body squeeze around him eagerly, Dean cried out in relief and let his head press back into the pillow. Cas sucked gentle bruises into his exposed neck, one hand smoothing up Dean’s side before he started moving.

It was slow and hot and so fucking _good._ Cas fucked into Dean like he’d been studying his body his entire life, his forehead resting against Dean’s and their mouths open with breathy pants. Dean’s hands smoothed across Cas’s waist, feeling his muscles bunching and undulating as he moved.

When Dean came, it was completely untouched and he didn’t make a sound; his eyes were squeezed shut and his mouth dropped open in a silent scream. Cas’s grip tightened on Dean’s hip when his own orgasm hit him, stars popping behind closed eyelids as he pressed his face into the hollow of Dean’s neck.

After that, they didn’t move for a long time. Cas settled beside Dean with his head on his chest, and Dean stroked Cas’s hair slowly as his breathing quieted. Outside the bedroom window, it was still snowing lightly and frost had begun to gather at the edges of the glass pane.

“I love you.” Cas said suddenly, his voice hushed but absolutely certain. Dean’s hand paused. “I don’t need you to say it back. I just want you to know.”

Dean's breath had caught and he was quiet for a few seconds, and then he was tugging Cas up to him until he covered Cas’s mouth with his own. He traced a delicate line from Cas’s jaw to his chin, and Cas shivered a little.

When they pulled back, Cas opened his eyes but Dean’s were still closed. He just rested his head on the pillow beside him, looking at the shadows Dean’s eyelashes made on his cheeks.

And then, so quietly anyone else might have missed it, Dean whispered,

“I love you too.”

xXx 

Dean liked Christmas well enough. It’s not like it was a _huge_ deal in his family. His parents could never afford too many presents, and the forced interaction always meant John and Mary fought nearly every year, but it had its positive points. Like Sam getting stupidly excited about geeky gifts like books and Dean eating way too much of Mary’s baking, and even if John put too much rum in his eggnog, Christmas usually put the guy in a good mood.

This year, though, it already felt different. Christmas morning was slow and quiet for Dean and Cas, and though they had promised each other they wouldn’t do gifts this year (it still seemed too soon) they both ended up buying something, anyways.

Dean got Cas a bookshelf, which Cas blinked at somewhat blankly.

“Thank you, Dean. But… I don’t think the motel manager approves of people bringing in their own furniture.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “It’s for here, Einstein.”

Cas looked at Dean, realization dawning on his face. “You bought me a book shelf… for here?”

Dean blushed and ducked his head, rubbing the back of his neck self-consciously. “Yeah. I mean, you already know the code to get into the building, so if I gave you a key for a gift it would have been a little anti-climatic. Plus you’re always bitching about not being able to buy your own books because you have nowhere for them, so I figured-”

Dean was cut off when Cas crashed his mouth to his.

Funnily enough, Cas’s present for Dean was a collection of cookbooks.

“I thought you could try teaching me again.” Cas said, a hopeful look on his face. Dean flipped through the books, taking in colorful pictures of cookies and tarts, pies and cakes, pasta and pizzas and bread. He looked up at Cas.

“Sure, Cas. I’ll teach you to cook anything you want.” He leaned over and kissed him.

“And when we’re not cooking, we can keep the books on my bookshelf.” Cas said, and Dean laughed.

“You’re such a dork.”

As it turned out, Cas liked to give books as presents. Even though Dean had said he didn’t have to, Cas got presents Sam, Sarah, and Mary. Sarah got a book on Art Nouvaeu, Sam an illustrated companion for the series _Game of Thrones,_ and Mary got some novel by an author they both apparently liked.

In return, Sam and Sarah got Cas a French coffee press – Sarah knew how much Cas depended on the stuff – and Mary got him what was possibly the ugliest and yet cutest Christmas sweater Dean had ever seen. It was green and embroidered with tiny knit Christmas trees, and there was a large white silhouette of an angel in the very middle.

Dean was absolutely mortified when he discovered Mary had got him one to match, only his was blue with a reindeer on the front.

Lola received a new dog bed, way too many treats, and a tag with her name on it.

All in all, it was the best Christmas Dean had had in a while. Or maybe ever. Mary and Sam welcomed Cas as if he’d always been there, and Dean ate way too much food (like every year) and nobody fought.

And even though Dean knew this bubble of happiness and calm was temporary, everything still felt okay because humming through his bones that entire day was the revelation that _Cas loved him, Cas loved him, Cas loved him._


	21. An Unplanned New Year's

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, you guys are amazing and your encouragement means so much, thank you thank you! 
> 
> Despite the overall serious tone of this chapter, there's a bit of New Year's fluff, so I hope you guys like it! And Happy New Year :)

“Why can’t we just go to Pam’s for New Year’s?” Cas griped, squinting at Dean like a grumpy cat as Dean straightened the collar of Cas’s shirt. 

“Never knew you were so attached to beer nuts and pale ale, Cas.” Dean’s lip quirked up, the rough stubble he’d grown over the holidays going with it.

“I wasn’t until I met you.” Cas grumbled, twisting his neck a little in discomfort once Dean stepped away. He was wearing a crisp button-down shirt and a pair of clean, close-cut jeans. Not exactly the smart attire the boys had to wear for work, but definitely not the loose and comfortable clothes Cas had taken to wearing on weekends.

“Hey, I’d rather be at Pam’s when the ball drops too, but I promised Sammy to let him take us out.” Dean smoothed down the creases of his own shirt – a button-up denim number with the sleeves rolled up over a pair of dark jeans. “He just got that job offer at the firm, Sarah got her own class this year – they want to celebrate.”

Cas sighed and ran his hands through his hair, trying to force down the few strands that he knew stuck up near the back. Dean watched him sympathetically before leaning over to press a quick kiss to his lips.

“You look great.” He said. “I promise – just a few hours at a hoity-toity cocktail joint, and then we can peace the fuck out and find ourselves a dive bar. Yeah?”

Cas pursed his lips and nodded. He didn’t know why he was so apprehensive about spending New Year’s at some high-end lounge that was apparently Sarah’s choosing. It just didn’t seem like _them_ – Dean loved the wooden shine coming off long bars lined with taps, and Castiel preferred coffee shops where the espresso machine warred with the noise of talking people. He was afraid he’d spend the entire evening feeling incredibly out of place.

The lounge was called _Crowley’s_ and it was tucked between an artisan flower shop and a place with expensive suits in the window. The interior was modern, with sleek black walls sporting unique light fixtures that threw the entire lounge in a dim glow. The wall behind the bar was lit up electric shock blue and showcased about a hundred different varieties of hard liquor. Neither Dean nor Cas recognized the low, repetitive music that pulsed throughout the place.

“I didn’t even know Lawrence _had_ lounges like this.” Benny griped from where he sat across their table. His already large arms looked positively massive resting against the sleek surface.

“Just watch,” Andrea said from his side, “Two months and this place will be another Outback Steakhouse.”

Charlie and Gilda snorted with laughter. Dean eyed the cocktail menu with trepidation.

“Fourteen ninety-five for a _dry martini?”_ He asked, scandalized.

“Come on guys, give it a chance.” Sarah implored. Sam sat with his long arm draped over the back of her chair, already resigned to the night’s events. Castiel eyed his clean shirt and wondered if he’d picked it out or if Sarah had.

“Cas is probably more used to this than we are.” Charlie said, turning her doe-like eyes to Castiel.

“Used to what?” Cas blinked in confusion. Charlie waved her hand around.

“You know – big city shit like this. Fancy lounges and expensive drinks.”

Cas had to stop himself from laughing outright. “Not really. I mean, I’ve lived in lots of big cities, but I never frequented any lounges. I preferred to spend my time in coffee shops.”

“Exactly how many cities have you lived in?” Andrea asked, her elegant eyebrows arching, and Cas bit his lip a little as he thought. He was still nervous with this much attention being directed at him, but he was getting used to it.

“Let’s see… New York, Chicago, Seattle, San Francisco, Philadelphia, along with a few others… so, six or seven?”

Benny whistled lowly, and Charlie’s eyebrows shot up. “Wow. Living here must _suck.”_

Cas blinked again, taken aback. “Not really. I like Lawrence – big cities can loose their charm fairly quickly. It’s quieter here.”

“Yeah, I bet that’s the only reason you like it here.” Benny winked at Dean, who promptly turned bright red.

“You don’t ever miss it?” Charlie pressed. Cas frowned a little at her and wondered why she was so curious.

“No.” Cas said, his voice utterly certain. “Not at all. I never aimed to live in a big city; I’ve always preferred the countryside. When I was a kid I actually entertained the idea of being a bee farmer.”

Cas wasn’t sure why he chose to divulge this particular bit of personal information right then, but he watched nonetheless as the table looked at him incredulously.

“Bees?” Dean asked, nonplussed. Cas shrugged.

“But…” Charlie just looked at him, “Wouldn’t you be afraid of being stung? Like, _all the time?”_

“Bees can be quite sophisticated.” Cas said defensively.

“Oh come on, leave him alone.” Sam chided them, and Cas shot him a grateful glance, “It’s not like you guys don’t like weird stuff. Charlie, you have three different Storm Trooper costumes at your house, and Benny, you spent an entire summer _building your own canoe.”_

The table erupted into laughter, and just like that, Castiel’s apprehensions melted away. He leaned back a little in his seat and discovered that at some point Dean had draped his arm there. He could feel the man’s thumb resting lightly on his shoulder, and warmth bloomed happily in his stomach.

The time leading up to midnight passed easily. Dean decided that whiskey was the best replacement for craft beer, so Cas followed his lead, though he watched somewhat enviously as Charlie and Gilda ordered round after round of colourful drinks with various bobbles hanging off the rim. Sometime before midnight, the single giant flat-screen over the back of the bar switched to the live feed from Times Square, and the entire lounge seemed to buzz with anticipation.

Cas shifted somewhat uncomfortably. He knew that it was tradition to kiss someone – preferably your significant other – at the stroke of midnight, but he was suddenly wondering whether Dean wanted to. It was such a childish thing to worry about, he knew, considering their relationship was pretty mature at this point in most other ways.

They had reported their relationship to HR at the school, but Dean still shied away from public displays of affection. Even some as simple as Cas resting his hand on Dean's arm during quiet conversations. And when Dean gathered up the courage to hold Cas’s hand, it was usually when they were walking Lola late at night or when he knew nobody else would really see them.

Cas just told himself he couldn’t expect too much yet. Maybe Dean would let him give him a kiss on the cheek, or at best a fleeting peck on the lips. Really, Cas was grateful that Dean was willingly draping his arm around his shoulder at what was possibly the most popular cocktail lounge in the entire city.

So when the countdown started from thirty, Cas forced his hopes down. The music in the bar had stopped so the patrons could chant along. Benny and Andrea looked at each other as they recited the dwindling numbers, and Charlie and Gilda held hands above the table. Cas watched them with a certain ache in his chest.

He was so distracted by this ache, then, that he was barely aware of the number four passing his lips. When he said _three,_ Dean’s fingertips took his chin lightly and turned Cas to face him. At _two,_ he was gently pulling him in. Cas was able to breathe _one_ before Dean’s lips caught his own.

Time slowed to a crawl. The noise of the bar – cheers and noise-makers and whistles – faded completely, and as he let out a tiny, happy breath, Dean coaxed Cas’s lips open with his own. The kiss lingered a few slow, hot seconds; he felt Dean’s tongue slide and tug gently against his own, could taste the whisky on his lips where it made his skin tingle. It was enough to spark a liquid hunger in Cas’s gut and then Dean was pulling away and dropping his hand from Cas’s chin.

Time returned to him, and the riot of noise crowded in around his ears. But he could still hear Dean’s smooth, steady voice.

“Happy New Year, Cas.”

Cas couldn't help a love-struck grin when he replied with the same. 

xXx 

Dean had lost count of how many times he’d asked Benny to stop smoking. As they all stood outside of Crowley’s, waiting for the man to finish a cigarette before they all bailed to Pam’s, Benny's excuse was the same as always.

“You got your bad habits, I got mine.”

Dean rolled his eyes and stomped his feet on the ground, trying to force some blood back to them. The cold snap in Kansas was reaching record lows. Beside him, Cas shivered and rubbed his hands together.

“I should have brought mitts.”

“Here.” Dean pulled his own hands, warm and toasty, out of his pockets and pulled Cas’s hands into his palms. He began to rub Cas’s hands between his own, and Cas’s cheeks flushed a little but his shoulders relaxed.

“Thanks.” He said quietly.

The others were standing nearby, taunting Benny good-naturedly and accusing one another of miscellaneous bad habits, when Sam’s cell phone started ringing. Dean peaked over at him but kept working some warmth into Cas’s hands, though he saw Sarah watching Sam as well. Usually, the only people who called Sam were the two of them, so it was more than a little strange that Sam was getting a call. Not to mention a call only about an hour after midnight on New Year’s Eve.

Sam frowned at his cell screen as he shuffled away from the group of them, and Dean watched as he swiped the screen and held it up to his ear. There was a muffled “hello?” and then Sam’s back straightened. He turned around to look at Dean.

“Yeah.” He said, talking into the phone but not breaking eye contact with Dean, “Just give me the address and I’ll be there.”

Sam held his hand out for another phone, and Sarah pulled her own out quickly. With one hand, Sam typed an address into it while he talked into the other.

“Okay. I got it. Just sit tight, okay? I’ll call you when I’m almost there.”

“Who was that?” Sarah asked once Sam had hung up, but Dean was pretty sure he already knew. When Sam looked up and caught his eye again, he knew he was right.

“I’ll drive.” Dean said, dropping Cas’s hands to reach for his keys. “I only had two whiskeys.”

“Wait, what’s going on?” Charlie frowned at them.

“It’s nothing,” Dean answered quickly. He knew he could trust Charlie, but he figured the less teachers he had in on this, the better. “Just a… family emergency. You guys go on ahead to Pam’s and we’ll meet up with you in a bit.”

He gestured for Cas and Sam to follow him before heading for the Impala, but Cas hesitated.

“No, Dean, maybe I should just go to Pam’s.” He said uncertainly, in a low voice only Dean could hear. “I don’t really know Michael. My presence might set him off.”

Dean opened his mouth to argue, but then snapped it shut again. Cas had a point, and the urge to have Cas at his side was because it would calm _him_ down, not the kids.

“Okay.” Dean said reluctantly. “We won’t be long. I’ll catch up with you later.”

He grabbed Cas’s hand and pulled him in for a quick kiss.

Dean waited until they’d pulled away from the curb before rounding on his brother. “What did he say? Is he all right? What happened?”

Sam was looking down at the screen of his phone, trying to work out directions. He glanced up at Dean. “He wasn’t saying much. He just said things got out of control with his dad and he didn’t know who else to call.”

Dean swore quietly under his breath.

“Dean, I’m sure it’s fine. He seems smart – if anyone were hurt, he would have called the police or 911.”

Dean pursed his lips but didn’t reply, settling instead on just hoping that Sam was right.

The directions punched into Sam’s phone led them to a quiet part of town, which wasn’t exactly well-off but wasn’t dirt poor, either. The streets were quiet and the lights above dim. When they neared the house number, Sam called Michael’s cell again to tell him to watch out for a big, black car.

“Don’t know why I bothered,” Sam muttered after he hung up, “You can hear this thing coming from a mile away.”

“Hey,” Dean said in a warning voice, “Leave Baby out of this.”

Finally, Dean pulled up uncertainly to a darkened house. It looked like it would be a lovely home with some upkeep, but as it was, the paint was chipping off the siding and the yard looked littered and neglected. No lights were on in the windows or outside on the porch. The crumbling driveway was empty.

“You sure he said this was the place?” Dean asked, shifting the Impala into park and leaning a little toward the window. Sam just nodded in mute confusion, but then he squinted and lifted a hand to point at the front porch.

“There.” He said quietly, and Dean focused his eyes on the patch of darkness until he could make out two figures huddled in the shadows near the front door.

Both of them went to throw open the doors, but then Sam stopped them.

“Whoa, whoa, wait.” He said, holding a hand out. “Maybe only one of us should go.”

“Why?” Dean’s hand was still gripping his door handle tight.

“Look, he sounded a little shaken up, okay?” Sam said evenly. “Having two adults basically pounce on him might freak him out right now. Trust me. I _sort of_ have experience with situations like this.” He finished pointedly, and Dean’s jaw flexed.

“All right, all right. Point taken.” He grumbled. “I’ll go.”

The neighborhood was even quieter outside of the safety of the car. Dean shuffled up the walk, hoping to emanate some sort of reassurance in his gate, though it didn’t seem like the two boys were even aware of him. There was a small kid – smaller than his age warranted – huddled to Michael’s side, and Michael was talking to him in a low, soothing voice. Dean’s throat tightened.

“Michael?” He tried to speak quietly, to just grab his attention softly from where it was currently focused on his younger brother. Michael’s head snapped up to him.

“Mr. Winchester?” He frowned. “I thought your brother was coming to get me?”

“Yeah, well I was with him anyway when you called, so…” Dean finished this by shrugging his shoulders and offering Michael a somewhat apologetic smile. “Is this okay?”

Michael nodded, but the younger kid was regarding Dean with wide, distrustful eyes. Dean took a breath and walked a little closer to them, before bending down so he was at the kid’s height.

“Hey, I’m Dean Winchester. I teach your brother.” He said, not offering his hand to shake because the kid was basically bubbling with the vibe of _don’t touch me._ “What’s your name?”

The boy didn’t answer right away, but tilted his chin up a little in a small yet impressive show of bravery. He replied evenly, “Asher.”

“Hey, Asher.” Dean said. “I heard you guys had a rough night?”

Dean looked over at Michael, and now that his eyes had adjusted to the grim lighting, he could make out the kid a little clearer. His bottom lip was split open and his left eye was so bruised it was almost sealed shut. His nose looked like it only recently stopped bleeding. He held his right hand aloft, his fingers immobile and limp, as if it hurt to move them. His knuckles were splattered in blood.

“You could say that.” Michael replied, and Dean nearly winced at the uncharacteristic coolness of his voice.

“Dad locked us out.” Asher supplied, and Dean returned his gaze to the younger kid. Luckily, he looked to be all in one piece. His cheeks were stained with ruddy tears, but that was about it.

“Why did he do that?” Dean asked, before contemplating that maybe it wasn’t his question to ask. Asher shrugged though Dean knew that the kid knew why. Michael didn’t supply the answer either.

“Is he here?” He asked instead. Both boys shook their heads. Dean looked over his shoulder to where the Impala was waiting by the curb.

“Well, it’s cold as balls out here,” Dean said, turning back to the kids, “And I’m not gunna let you sit out here and shiver all night and get sick. My brother’s got a spare bedroom at his place. It’s warm, and he has tons of cool movies, and his wife makes kickass food.”

Asher was watching Dean with timid consideration, but Michael’s face was stony and blank. It was chilling to look at; that vacant stare, as if he wasn’t seeing or processing anything, like he just didn’t _care_ anymore. He’d expected to feel a sort of victory once Michael had agreed to get away from his father, but Dean didn’t feel victorious right now. As he looked at Michael’s various injuries, still bleeding and bruising before his very eyes, he felt as if someone had kicked him swiftly in the gut.

Michael just stared at Dean, not moving.

“Look, Michael,” Dean said quietly, “I know you didn’t want to do this. But I can’t… I can’t just leave you here. And you called Sam, so I know you know that, too. You don’t have to decide anything yet. Just come out of the cold, get some sleep. Things might look better in the morning.”

That last bit was a bald-faced lie, and Michael knew it, but the rest had been sincere enough. Michael took a shaky breath and then nodded. Dean glanced over his shoulder and gestured for Sam to come out.

Sam’s eyes widened when he took in Michael’s worse-for-wear appearance, but he recovered quickly. Dean thought wryly how it wasn’t anything Sam hadn’t seen before.

Asher was a little apprehensive of Sam at first. Most kids were, given the guy’s height and gorilla limbs. Asher kept a wary eye on him as Sam talked with the boys out on the front porch, but Sam’s warm hazel eyes and calm voice seemed to be enough to convince Asher that he wasn’t an immediate threat.

As Sam talked with Asher, Dean looked at Michael seriously and said in a low voice,

“I know you don’t want to do this but you have to tell me if you’re seriously hurt, so I can get you to the hospital or something. You don’t look good, Michael.”

Michael ducked his head, passing his hand a little over his swollen eye. “M’fine.” He mumbled. “I’ve had worse. Nothing feels broken or sprained or anything. And I know what that feels like.”

Dean swallowed thickly at that, but he nodded. “Okay. Let’s get you guys out of the cold.”

xXx

They never did make it back to Pam’s. Dean stood morosely in Sam's front entryway, allowing the boys some privacy as Sam showed them the guest room and where the bathroom was. His face was cast in shadow where he stood, arms crossed tightly over his chest as he glared at the floor.

Rage – an emotion that bubbled often in Dean’s veins, but that he usually kept firmly in check – was slowly working its way into every iota of his being.

He hardly moved when the front door opened, and Sarah and Cas stepped through. Dean didn’t register the cautious way that Sarah approached him.

“Hey.” She said quietly. “Sam called me and filled me in. Where are they?”

Dean blinked and looked up at her, flexing his jaw a few times before he was able to ground out, “Upstairs.”

Sarah patted his arm and then disappeared in that direction. Cas hovered uncertainly by the door, watching Dean quietly and with thinly veiled concern. He moved to his side and touched his elbow lightly.

“Dean,” He said quietly, “Are you all right? What happened?”

The muscles in Dean’s jaw were screaming in protest, he was clenching his teeth so hard. “Son of a bitch beat the shit out of Michael. I dunno about Asher, but the kid probably saw the whole thing. This… this is fucked up, Cas. I mean I knew it was bad, but I didn’t think it was _this_ bad.”

Cas didn’t say anything. Probably because there wasn’t much you could say to that. He could have replied with _I know_ or _I’m sorry,_ but maybe he could sense how much Dean didn’t want to hear those things. Dean was grateful.

Sam came down the stairs then, his face grave as he joined them in the hall.

“They warmed up to Sarah quick enough.” He said. “Michael’s letting her clean him up. Asher still isn’t really talking.”

Dean nodded but didn’t say anything.

“I have to go find a twenty-four hour drugstore or something.” Sam went on, talking as if to himself. “They don’t even have toothbrushes or a change of clothes. And I’m pretty sure we’re out of painkillers. Michael would probably appreciate some.”

Dean huffed out a harsh breath and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Dean…” Sam started, and Dean squeezed his eyes shut because he knew what was coming. “We have to call someone. I can’t let them go back to that place, even if we give their old man a few days to calm down. I know you didn’t want to do this but we have to call CPS. They have the resources. It may not be ideal, but they can help.”

Dean was quiet, focusing on breathing in and out, in and out, before finally dropping his hand and looking at Sam.

“All right.” He said, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw Cas duck his head and wince at how defeated he sounded.

The three of them were quiet for a moment, and then Cas looked up at Sam.

“I agree, calling CPS is the right thing.” He said sincerely, evenly. “But it sounds like they’ve just experienced a very great trauma. I can’t imagine it would be beneficial to uproot them yet again at the first given chance. Why not – if it’s all right with you, obviously – give them a few days to regain their footing? Let them rest, eat a few decent meals. It would probably be better for them in the long run.”

Dean looked up at Cas, gratitude and adoration on his features and Cas shot him a small, reassuring smile. Sam chewed his lip as he thought this over.

“That actually might not be a bad idea.”

“But,” Cas went on, “If Michael will let you, you should probably take pictures of his injuries. If his father decides to take legal action to get the boys back, you’ll need all the evidence you can get.”

“Good idea.” Sam said, looking surprised and a little ashamed – as if he should have thought of that already.

They fell into a troubled silence again, until Dean let out a deep yawn. Sam’s eyebrows drew together with sympathy.

“Go get some sleep, guys.” He said. “It’s almost three. There’s not much else we can do right now, and I’ll give you an update in the morning. Okay?”

Dean nodded reluctantly. “Okay.”

Sam reached out and gripped his shoulder for a second, a grounding contact that Dean appreciated even if he wasn’t sure how to acknowledge it. Everything felt numb and raw at the same time. He tried to focus on not throwing up as he let Cas lead him out of the house and to the car.

xXx

Neither Dean nor Cas slept that night. They ended up crawling into bed sometime just after three, and Cas thought dimly how this wasn’t how he planned their New Year’s Eve to end, but he felt more sad about that than bitter. He hadn’t seen Michael or the result of his father’s latest explosion, but judging by the haunted look on Dean’s face, it hadn’t been good.

Dean seemed so far away and gone that when they crawled beneath the covers of his bed, Castiel wasn’t even sure if Dean wanted him to touch him at all. He just laid on his side uncertainly, watching as Dean stared up at the ceiling. His chest was falling up and down restlessly and he continuously blinked tears out of his eyes.

Not being able to stand it anymore, Cas reached out and slowly let his hand trail down Dean’s arm where it lied on the mattress between them. His fingers reached the back of Dean’s hand, and they smoothed over rough knuckles and slid into the space between his fingers. Shaking a little, Dean flexed his hand to accommodate them, squeezing his fingers around Cas’s as if Cas were a lifeline.

“Cas,” Dean whispered, his voice thick and sounding very unlike Dean, “Do you think you could…”

He trailed off and swallowed hard. But Cas understood.

“Of course.” Cas replied softly and shimmied his body closer to Dean’s. Dean turned automatically, shifting so his back was pressing against Cas’s chest. Cas brought his arms around Dean’s waist and pulled him close. He let his nose rest against Dean’s neck. Their legs bumped and tangled together.

“Thanks.” Dean muttered, almost inaudible.

“Anything for you, Dean.” Cas whispered, and Dean’s hand rested on top of where Cas’s lied on his stomach. They breathed and rested, but neither of them slept. They waited for the sun to come up together.


	22. Favourite Characters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for all the angst you guys!!! We're getting to the more intense part of the fic now, so the next few chapters are gunna be a little rough. But I'm going to throw in as much Dean/Cas TLC as I can, so it won't be all bad. 
> 
> Your comments are amazing, and you guys are so smart! I've seen some suggestions/predictions for what might happen with Michael, and I have to say... you're not too far off the mark ;) 
> 
> Also, I've done as much research as I can regarding CPS procedures in the states, so hopefully even if some stuff in here isn't exactly true to form, it's at least believable. I've never had experience with CPS myself, and I'm pretty sure the laws in Canada are different (where I'm from). So please forgive any mistakes!

Dean forced himself to stay in bed until his alarm clock read eight o’clock in the morning. He’d been hoping – as the numbers turned from four to five to six and onward – that he’d be able to at least get an hour or two of sleep. But once eight rolled around, he figured it was officially a lost cause.

Groaning and cursing a little under his breath, Dean rolled away from Cas’s warm and safe arms and shoved himself to a standing position. His muscles were sore from spending the entire night tensed, and his eyes scratched every time he blinked. As if his body were begging him to sleep, only his mind wouldn’t let him.

Dean hadn’t spent his sleepless hours just fretting. Sometime between six and seven o’clock, he decided that he wasn’t going to sit by and let this bastard get away with the same things John had done – what millions of other fathers were probably doing. So as he waited for a fresh pot of coffee to brew and Cas showered, he opened his often-neglected laptop at the kitchen table and logged on to the account he had through the school’s admin system.

He searched through his class rosters until he found the name “Michael Paul”. From there he found Michael’s records: grades, extra-curricular activities, school clubs and teams. But he ignored those stats and scrolled down until he found what he’d been searching for: the listed parent/guardian.

_Walter Paul._

The name felt vile on his tongue, and he scowled at it as he picked up his phone and dialed Charlie’s number.

There was a cut-off after the fourth ring, and then all Dean heard was a distant rustling and disoriented mutters. Then,

“’Lo?”

“Jesus, Bradbury.” Dean’s eyebrows shot up. “You sound like hell.”

“It’s New Year’s.” Came the groggy reply. “Why the hell are you calling me before nine o’clock?”

“I’m calling in my favour. It’s kind of important.”

“Dude, I’m so hung-over, I think I’m going to hurl an entire bottle of Jose.” Charlie complained. “Can’t this wait?”

“Hell no. I chaperoned a dance for this favour.”

“Yeah, but-”

“They played Beiber, Charlie. _Beiber_.” Dean persisted.

“All right, all right. Point taken.” Charlie whined. “What do you want?”

“Is your laptop nearby?”

“Bitch, do you even know me? Of course it is.”

“Okay.” Dean bit his lip a little. “I need you to look up a name for me.”

There was the sound of movement then the distant clicking of computer keys, and then Charlie said, “Shoot.”

“Walter Paul.”

Things were quiet for a few seconds and Dean could make out the sound of more typing.

“Okay, um…” Charlie started, “52 years old, Lawrence native. Employed at Fitzgerald Trucking. Um… oh shit, he’s got a laundry list of priors…”

Dean squeezed his eyes shut, vindication and dread warring in his system. “Like what?”

“Let’s see… public intoxication, another public intoxication… a few DUI’s… petty theft, breaking and entering, assault, possession… it’s basically the same stuff over and over.”

Dean dropped his hand. A cloud of angry resolution worked its way into his gut. He knew what he’d been thinking about doing, and this did nothing but give him more motivation.

“That’s about it.” Charlie said. “His record isn’t pretty, but it’s not anything surprising. Sort of the norm for drunks. What’s this about, Dean? Does this have anything to do with your ‘family emergency’ last night?”

Dean doesn’t see them, but he knows Charlie mimed a pair of quotations around those words. “Sort of. It’s nothing to worry about, I just wanted a background check on this guy.”

“Are you all right? You sound kinda… I dunno. Weird.”

“I’m fine.” Dean replied quickly, looking up when he heard the shower water shut off. “I gotta go, all right? I’ll see you in class next week.”

“Hey, I’m no stranger to the brush-off, but a thank you would be nice.” Charlie’s voice was half-joking, half-not. Dean grimaced guiltily.

“Thanks, Charlie.” He muttered.

“Yeah, yeah.” Charlie stifled a yawn. “It’s okay, I gotta go up-chuck my guts anyways. Good luck with your… whatever the hell is going on there.”

“Thanks.” Dean sighed, and then hung his phone up and dropped it on the counter. He was just rubbing his hands across his face when Castiel padded into the kitchen, his hair freshly washed and wearing that dark baseball-style shirt that Dean liked.

“How are you feeling?” Cas asked, grabbing the pot of coffee and pouring two cups. Dean propped his chin in his hand.

“Like shit.” He admitted. It took him a moment to realize he almost never answered that question honestly, but now that he had, it felt sort of good. Maybe it was because it was Cas who asked.

Cas made Dean’s coffee how he knew he liked it, and then set the mug in front of him before joining the man at the table. Dean smiled gratefully but didn’t have much energy for anything else.

He was just raising the mug to his lips when something occurred to him, and his face went blank with panic. “Oh shit. I forgot to take my meds last night.”

Dean put the mug back down and went to the cupboard, pulling his prescription bottle down from the shelf and eyeing the label.

“It’s okay.” Cas said soothingly, “It happens. Maybe you should set yourself a reminder in your phone or something.”

Dean didn’t reply, just glared at the label and tried to remember what he’d done when he’d missed a dose last time. But he’d been on Prozac then, and this was Cipralex. Was it different? Should he skip the missed dose or take one now to make up for it? He could have sworn the pharmacist explained this to him, but he couldn’t remember the specifics and he’d thrown out the info pamphlet that came with the drugs. God, why had he done that?

Breathing harder in frustration, Dean slammed the bottle down on the counter and dropped his head into his hand. He raked his fingers through his hair and pulled, trying to let a little bit of his anger out in that tiny, minute gesture.

He didn’t hear Cas come up behind him, but he was suddenly there, smoothing a gentle hand across Dean’s shaking shoulders.

“I can’t do this, Cas.” Dean muttered miserably. “I don’t know how to help this kid. He’s too much like me, I’m too close to this and I have no idea what to do. I didn’t know what to do then, why would I now?”

Cas’s grip on his shoulders increased a little. “Dean, you may not realize it, but you’ve already helped him. Even if it’s only a little.”

Dean was quiet as he considered this. He wanted to believe what Cas said, but helping a little felt nowhere near like enough.

Suddenly, Dean’s cell phone jumped to life on the kitchen table and he moved quickly to answer it. The caller ID read _Sammy_.

“Sam?” Dean answered, suddenly feeling more awake and on-edge than he had before.

“Dean. Hey.” Sam answered.

“How’s it going, how are they?”

“It’s going… all right, I guess.” Sam said hesitantly. “They managed to sleep a little, and Sarah talked Asher into eating something.”

“Good. That’s good.” Dean allowed himself to feel a very tiny shred of relief.

“Yeah. Except… Michael hasn’t really been talking. Like, at all. He hasn’t said two words since we brought him here. He’s just sitting upstairs reading a book.”

Dean’s chest swelled with worry. He frowned into the phone. “Maybe he just needs some time.”

“I think he would talk to you.” Sam said suddenly, and Dean blinked.

“Sam, I don’t know if that’s a good idea…” He began uncertainly, the words he’d just said to Cas rattling around in his brain.

“What are you talking about?” Sam replied indignantly. “Dean, you’ve been worried about this kid for the past three months! He trusts you. He wouldn’t have come here if he didn’t.”

They were quiet for a few seconds, Dean’s jaw flexing anxiously and Sam patiently awaiting his answer.

“All right. We’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

xXx

Sam and Sarah’s half-finished nursery was painted yellow. It was a gender-neutral colour, considering Sarah had always insisted on not forcing gender roles in the form of colours on their children. Sam had replied to this by grumbling half-heartedly about her Women & Gender Studies minor, but ultimately gave in and painted the walls a colour called _Sunshine Lace._

Set up in the room was a half-built crib and a daybed, which had probably been a bitch for Michael and Asher to have to share. The duvet was a soft off-white and embroidered with tiny bunnies. When Dean stepped tentatively in the doorway, he found Michael huddled on top of it, his knees drawn to his chest and a familiar paperback in his hands. His eye was still swollen and dark bruises coloured his skin, but he looked a little better now that the blood was cleaned off his face.

“You can stop reading that, you know.” Dean said quietly, his hands stuffed in his jeans pockets as he leaned against the door jam. “We start _Fahrenheit 451_ next week.”

Michael looked up sharply, before offering a shrug. “I like it.”

Dean couldn’t help a small, crooked smile. “That was my favourite book in high school.”

Michael’s eyes lit with timid curiosity. “Yeah?”

Dean nodded, and took this as a sign that it was okay to cross the room and sit down softly on the edge of the bed. “Yeah. And SE Hinton was like, fifteen or something when she wrote it. So that’s pretty badass.”

Michael smiled a little in agreement, sitting up straighter and crossing his spindly legs beneath him.

“Who’s your favourite character?” Dean asked. Michael set the book down in front of him, but he traced the cover lightly with his fingers. One hand still sat numbly in his lap, his knuckles bruised black and blue.

“Johnny.” He answered, not looking at Dean. “That’s why I picked him for the assignment.”

Dean nodded. “What do you like about him?”

Michael lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug. “I dunno. I mean, all the Greasers got a really bad hand dealt to them. But Johnny got the worst in my opinion. At least the Curtis’ had each other, and they knew their parents had loved them. But Johnny got the real shit end of the stick, and he wasn’t bitter or mean about it at all. He was a good friend and he saved Ponyboy and he loved Dally.”

Michael shrugged again, as if he wasn’t sure what else to say, and Dean was quiet as he considered this. “You know, most of the time characters are our favourite because we identify with them.”

“I’m nothing like Johnny.” Michael muttered sourly. “I’m bitter as hell.”

“You’re allowed to be bitter.” Dean replied. “Johnny was probably bitter. He just didn't take it out on other people, like you don’t.”

Michael didn’t answer. They were quiet for a few moments, and then he whispered, “You’re going to call CPS. Aren’t you?”

Dean ducked his head, staring at his hands where they sat clasped in his lap. “I don’t really have a choice. After what I saw… you gotta understand. I don’t have a choice.”

Dean looked up at Michael, expecting to see betrayal on Michael’s face, but the kid just looked resigned. “It’s all right.” He intoned. “I get it.”

Dean swallowed. “Michael, do you mind if I ask… what happened?”

Dean wasn’t sure exactly _why_ he wanted to know. It was the same thing that happened after every beating his own father gave him. This inexplicable urge to explain the violence away, as if understanding it would make it hurt less.

“It gets worse during the holidays.” Michael still wasn’t looking at Dean, just staring down at the cover of his book. “The anniversary of mom’s death is next week. She had leukemia. Watching her die just sort of… ruined him. I think he was a bit of a drinker before, but after she died, he just stopped trying. Normally he just yells a lot, maybe pushes me around a little. But when things really set him off, this happens.”

Michael gestured vaguely to himself.

“It doesn’t happen often,” He went on, “And usually it’s just me. But last night he went after Asher… and I just lost it. I’ve never even tried to defend myself before – it never seemed worth it – but as soon as he went for Asher, I grabbed him and started punching. I punched until there was blood everywhere and I couldn’t feel my hand anymore.”

Dean’s blood chilled, but he looked at Michael evenly as he said, “You did what you had to.”

Michael nodded mutely. They sat in silence again, and even if the silence was heavy and sad, it was at least companionable.

“Sam says you haven’t been talking much.” Dean said after a while. Michael blushed a little.

“I don’t really have anything to say.”

“You’ve said plenty to me.” Dean reasoned gently.

“You’re different.” Michael said in a hushed voice, not meeting Dean’s gaze. “I trust you.”

Dean’s heart bloomed with warmth and sweet, sweet relief. But he said, “You can trust Sam, too. He and Sarah want you guys to feel comfortable here. Even though the décor isn’t exactly… ideal.”

Dean eyed the white cotton curtains, which had the same cartoon bunnies as the bedspread had. Michael followed his gaze and gave a soft snort. “Sam and Sarah seem nice. I guess I just don’t want to get too comfortable.”

“Well, Sam and I were talking about that. We were thinking you and Asher could probably use to rest a bit before we call CPS; I’m pretty sure most of their offices are closed for the holidays anyways. So we’re gunna hold off on calling them until next week. I mean, if that’s all right with you guys.”

Michael looked up at Dean, a slightly skeptical look in his eye. “And Asher and I could stay here?”

Dean nodded. “Of course. Eat their food, make a mess, have a party. Anything you want.”

Michael’s lip lifted in a half-smile.

“Do you think your dad is gunna come looking for you guys?” Dean asked. Michael shook his head.

“He usually disappears until after mom’s anniversary. I don’t know where he goes – probably just one bar after the other. He won’t even notice we’re gone.”

Dean nodded. “All right. Do you think you could come downstairs and maybe eat something? I’m not saying you have to be Chatty Kathy, but don’t be afraid to talk to Sam and Sarah. They want to help.”

Michael nodded reluctantly.

Dean was about to stand up, and then he hesitated. “Oh, and… um, Cas – I mean, Mr. Novak is downstairs. Is that all right? He’s cool. He’s not gunna tell anybody about this.”

Michael frowned at Dean a little in confusion, but he nodded. “Yeah, I guess that’s all right.”

He fell quiet then, his mouth opening and closing as he struggled to say something. Dean waited patiently.

“Are you-” Michael broke off, rubbed the back of his neck, continued, “I mean, this isn’t my business, but some of the girls are saying… so I was just wondering… are you and Mr. Novak dating?”

Dean’s face went completely blank, and he felt a hot blush rising up his cheeks. He cleared his throat a little and said, “Um… yeah, actually. Is that… okay?”

Dean looked at Michael, nerves suddenly swirling in his gut. But Michael met his gaze levelly and nodded.

“That’s okay. I got a friend at Lawrence Public who likes dudes. I don’t have a problem with it, I was just wondering.” He said in a hurry.

“Fair enough.” Dean said, smiling a little with relief. “Now come on. I think Sarah made scrambled eggs.”

Dean stood and headed for the door, and Michael moved to follow. But then he asked, “Who’s your favourite character? From _The Outsiders?_ ”

Dean stopped and turned around. He gave Michael a sheepish smile and admitted, “Johnny Cade.”

xXx

Growing up, Castiel and his brothers had lived with the distant but ever-present assurance of being taken care of. Sure, his mother and father had always been a little detached. Physical affection wasn’t really a thing in their house. But whatever they needed, they received: medicine and doctors when they were sick, private schools, whatever clothes and accessories they wanted, food when they were hungry. Castiel remembered how a teenaged Gabriel had gone through a phase where he’d decided he wanted to be a rally car driver, and their father had purchased for him a brand new Subaru Impreza.

That sort of safety (even if it were only financial) sort of made up for the lack of an emotional bond with his parents. It helped Castiel not care about the everyday routine of mob politics; hits and deals and debts to be repaid; bodies hidden in trunks and crooked cops sitting in his living room.

His parents had never physically hurt him. That was always Castiel’s defense for his family. Even when he grew older and got into fights with Gabriel at school, even when he refused to carry out his family’s more sordid business. Even when his father had found one of his younger hit men on his knees, deep-throating Cas in a darkened back room of their giant Chicago manor.

Castiel remembered his father’s blank look of shock. His voice as he evenly said, “After you’re finished here, Castiel, I’d like a word with you in my office.”

And then his father had explained, with a quiet sort of disappointment, how he wouldn’t have anyone of “Castiel’s sort” in his family. He was cut off financially, socially, physically.

Castiel had experienced abandonment. Not beatings.

So although he felt tremendous sympathy and pain for Michael and Dean, he couldn’t comprehend what they were going through. And Castiel hated it. Of all the things he required in his relationships with other people, understanding was always a priority. And it was hard when he realized that maybe this was something he would never quite be able to truly understand.

That afternoon, Dean collapsed onto his couch and promptly fell into a deep sleep. The weather outside was still bitingly cold and the sky was a grey slate, but Cas took Lola out for a walk anyways. Then he made the bed and washed the dishes, and started a load of laundry. Only after that did he give in to temptation and crawl onto the couch beside Dean.

He snuggled close to the man’s still form until he could feel his breath ghosting across his lips. This close, Cas could see the freckles that speckled across his nose and his forehead, and he wondered if they would grow more pronounced in the summertime. He saw how his eyelashes were more blonde than brown.

Suddenly, without opening his eyes Dean muttered, “Anyone ever tell you it’s creepy to watch people sleep?”

“No.” Cas replied softly. “But then, you’re the only person I’ve watched sleep.”

Dean cracked open one eye, as if to check if Cas was fucking with him. But Cas’s face was open and honest. He closed his eye again and sighed. “You’re a weird dude.”

Without really thinking, Cas replied simply, “Yeah, but you love me.”

Before Cas could second-guess his boldness, Dean gave a soft smile. “Yeah. I know.”

They were quiet for a second. Cas continued to watch Dean. On the floor, Lola gave a playful growl, tossing her triceratops toy around with her mouth.

Dean opened both eyes and frowned at Cas. “Why do you love me?”

Cas frowned at him. “What?”

Dean looked down. He reached out and fiddled a little with Cas’s shirt. “You don’t have to tell me, I guess. I was just curious.”

Cas sighed and took Dean’s chin in his hand. He tilted the man’s head up and waited until green eyes, flecked with gold, looked into his. “You’re stubborn. You’re temperamental. You’re ridiculously possessive about your car, though I’ve never understood peoples’ attachments to motor vehicles. You’re passionate. You’re incredibly kind-hearted and your students look at you like you hung the moon. You’re an unbelievable cook, and I think you’re naturally nurturing, though maybe you hate that about yourself. Not to mention how brave and strong you are. There are many reasons to love you, Dean. I can’t possibly describe them all.”

A delicate blush warmed Dean’s face, but Cas was surprised when his gaze didn’t waver.

“You love me because I’m stubborn and temperamental?”

Cas groaned a little and rolled his eyes. “That’s what you got out of that?”

“I’m just saying.” Dean persisted. “That’s usually a reason to _not_ like a person. Not the other way around.”

“Regardless. Yes, you’re stubborn for the most nonsensical reasons, and your anger can be frightening, and I find you incredibly frustrating at times. But that’s who you are, and I love that.” Cas replied. “In case you haven’t noticed, Dean, I can’t seem to get enough of you.”

Dean looked like he was about to say something to that, but then he decided against it. Instead, he just snuggled a little closer to Cas. A calm silence fell again and Cas listened to the sound of their breathing.

“For the record,” Dean said after a while, “You’re more stubborn than I am.”

Cas chuckled softly. “I know.”

A soft wind whistled against the windowpane of the living room. Cas felt an involuntary shiver and shifted closer to Dean, feeling the warmth radiating just below his shirt.

“Did you really want to live on a bee farm?” Dean asked quietly. Cas leaned back a little and blinked at him.

“Yes. I mean, I had a sort of affinity for honey as a kid, so that played a role.” He tilted his head a little. “Why do you ask?”

“I dunno.” Dean mumbled. “I’ve just sorta been thinking about what you said, about living in the country. I kinda always liked that idea. The solitude, the fresh air… it would be nice.”

Cas smiled, a timid warmth blooming in his chest. “Lola would love having the extra space to run.”

Dean snorted softly. “No kidding. She’d go nuts.”

“You could even get more dogs.” Cas said, a sly smile spreading across his lips.

“Hell no.” Dean said automatically. “One mutt is enough, the last thing I need is a pack running around, wrecking shit and tearing up the lawn.”

Cas laughed, a rumbling from his chest that softly shook against Dean’s body.

“What?” Dean squinted at him.

“You sound like an old man.” Cas replied, still chuckling.

“Shut up.”

Cas had had the intention to attempt to talk to Dean about Michael, and about what he’d started to say in the kitchen that morning. But they didn’t talk about it, and for whatever reason, that felt okay. The issue would be glaring them in the face come next week, so for now Cas was happy to snuggle into Dean on the couch and share quiet whispers – some serious and heartfelt, some teasing and light.

When supper came, Dean showed Cas how to make homemade soup. He let Cas stir while he chopped ingredients beside him, always paying attention to the temperature of the stove and throwing scraps to Lola when he thought Cas wasn’t looking.

When all the ingredients were in the pot and the soup was simmering, Cas shoved their piles of schoolwork to the floor and took Dean on the kitchen table. And despite the emotional stress of the day, Dean was soft and tender and giving, and Castiel believed that maybe Dean was starting to find his way through the fog that had been pressing around him.


	23. Rebuilding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to say sorry I'M SORRY for the angst in this chapter. But it's a good thing, trust me. I know I've had it in this fic before, and it's in the tags, but I'm going to give a warning that there's more talk of Dean's abuse in this chapter (and a slur). Just in case you're extra sensitive to that kind of stuff.
> 
> As always, you guys keep me going <3

Michael liked to keep a mental catalogue of the colours in Sam and Sarah’s house. The failed nursery was yellow, and the guest bathroom was a creamy white. The living room’s walls were robin’s egg blue, and the couch was off-white. Sam’s office was slate grey and the desk was a dark wood that looked sturdy and strong. The kitchen was red with wooden cupboards.

His father’s house hadn’t been painted – not really. All the walls were a sickly, faded white and the baseboards were old pine. There were cracks in the walls from bad wiring and the roof leaked. The floor always looked dirty. 

It was all logistics, Michael argued. Of course he preferred Sam and Sarah’s house to his own. Anybody would, after spending seventeen years growing up in a house that smelled permanently of cigarettes and stale beer. So what if he was happy to be shot of it? It wasn’t his fault.

This was his reasoning, and it made everything feel okay. It made him feel okay about finally getting a good night’s sleep and allowing Sarah to buy him a new change of clothes. He was okay with starting to talk to Sam and asking him about the various books he had tucked on a bookshelf in the living room. He let Sarah cook him breakfast, lunch and then dinner, always asking if he wanted seconds; always ridiculously pleased when he said yes.

Asher settled in even quicker. Kids were resilient like that, Michael knew. He hadn’t felt like a kid in years. But Asher didn’t hesitate to sleep late under the protection of Sam and Sarah’s roof. He talked Sarah’s ear off non-stop, and she was eager to let the kid have free-run of the small room near the back of the house that held all her art supplies. By the time Sunday night rolled around, Sarah knew that his favourite meal was macaroni and cheese, that he needed the hall light on in order to sleep, and that his favourite movie was the fifth instalment of the Harry Potter series.

Michael, on the other hand, didn’t give Sam and Sarah much to go on. But still, as he lied in bed Sunday night, dreading the return of school the next day, the only thing he was sure of was that he didn’t want to go home.

But he was starting to feel like he didn’t want to leave Sam and Sarah’s, either.

xXx

By the time his senior class was in session, Dean hadn’t heard any news from Sam. Michael was present, at least. Over the past four days his bruises had aged from blue to purple-black. He held his right hand close to his chest and did most of his school work with the other. But despite the bruises, his skin had lost its pallor and his eyes were bright. He leaned forward in his desk and held on to Dean’s every word. It was the most energy he’d seen the kid have in weeks.

He figured the stay at Sam and Sarah’s had done Michael more good than Dean could have hoped. Sam confirmed as much when he called Dean during his free period.

“I think he just needed a decent night’s sleep and a full meal.” Sam said, the distant sound of papers ruffling reaching Dean through the phone. “After that, he started coming around.” 

“He seemed better this morning.” Dean agreed.

“Good.” Sam said. “Sarah called CPS this morning, and apparently Walter Paul has been on their watch list for a while. They’re sending a social worker over on Wednesday.”

Dean chewed a little at his lip. He knew this was what they had planned on. But he felt like his stomach was filled with lead.

“Good.” Dean said, clearing his throat a little to better force the optimism out. “That’s, ah… good.”

Sam was quiet for a moment. “Yeah, I guess.”

The two brothers drifted into silence again.

“What?” Dean asked, basically hearing Sam’s bitch face through the phone.

“I dunno, Dean. It’s just… something doesn’t feel right.”

Dean sighed. “Tell me about it.”

“It’s not just like I feel guilty, or something.” Sam went on. “It feels _wrong._ It feels… like how it used to feel, watching you go home with dad after school.”

Dean was quiet as a chill settled into his bones. He didn’t really have an answer to that.

“Forget it.” Sam said, letting out an exasperated breath. “I think we’re just being paranoid. I’m sure everything will be fine.”

“Yeah.” Dean said, though his voice sounded strange. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

xXx

On Wednesday night, a social worker named Hannah Carroll showed up at Sam and Sarah’s. Her sincere, warm smile and kind eyes might have made other kids feel better about being shuffled around and re-homed. As it was, Dean saw Michael watching her with untrusting eyes as she gathered information. She asked Dean to describe what he found that night in minute detail, and he answered grudgingly. He looked away when Sam handed over the pictures he’d taken of Michael afterward. He tried not to watch as Michael and Asher were escorted from the house with nothing but a pitiful bag of belongings and the clothes on their back.

The house seemed empty and quiet after they left.

Thursday morning, Dean was battling the effects of another sleepless night as he and Cas drove to school. He jammed his thumb and forefinger into his eyes forcefully, trying to rub away the exhaustion.

“I was thinking of staying a little later after class today.” He said tonelessly. “Baby could use a winter tune-up, and Benny said I could have free run of the school garage.”

Cas looked over at him. “Okay. I could stay and grade papers while you do that. I mean… if that’s all right.”

Even after everything they’d said to each other and the time that had passed, Castiel was still trying so hard to allow Dean his space. And even through the murky waters of Dean’s current mindset, he loved the man for that.

“Of course that’s all right, Cas.” He replied softly. Cas seemed to tremble a little with relief.

But Dean’s murky mindset was made ten times worse when Michael didn’t show up in class at all.

According to the attendance office, his absence was cleared. It wasn’t specified why but Dean assumed CPS was probably behind it. And that did nothing to help the dark cloud he felt descending down upon him.

One of Dean’s best coping mechanisms – before Dean even really knew what coping mechanisms _were_ – was to work on the car. The steady reassurance of working with his hands, of knowing what the hell he was doing for once, calmed him. He loved letting his skin become marked and dirty with oil and gasoline and dust. He liked how tired his muscles felt afterward.

So when school was finally out for the day, Dean felt like he couldn’t get down to the school’s garage fast enough. He changed out of his suit and into some ratty work clothes. Baby was in good enough shape that there wasn’t anything major he needed to do, but he argued she could use a tire rotation and a change of fuel, and he’d noticed one of his taillights had been flickering feebly for the past few weeks.

He busied himself with this for just over an hour. Dean opened up one of the garage’s doors to let in the fresh air, and he saw the soggy snow that had started to fall had turned to rain. And though the familiarity of all of this was somewhat comforting, Dean was alarmed when he didn’t feel any better.

When Cas came to find him, he was kneeling at the Impala’s rear bumper, screwing a bolt back in place from where he’d taken off the taillight cover. The car’s exterior had been washed of the grime and salt from the wintry streets and her black paint shone brightly beneath the garage lights. Benny had left a while ago and the school was quiet, in the way it only was after the kids had left.

“She looks great.” Cas commented, leaning against a workbench and crossing his arms. His voice was calm, cautious; he was practically tiptoeing around Dean, and Dean knew it.

“Do you know how I got this car?” Dean surprised himself by asking. The question surprised Cas, because he narrowed his eyes at Dean and tilted his head. Dean went on without waiting for his answer.

“She was sitting at this used car dealership, a few blocks away from where me and the old man lived.” Dean stood up and threw the screwdriver back in an open toolbox. It clanged loudly. “She wasn’t much back then. Covered in rust, the engine was shot, all the leather inside was cracked. But I knew I could fix her. My dad had this mechanics shop, just near the highway, and he’d been teaching me about cars since I could hold a wrench.”

Slowly, Dean wrapped his hand around a crowbar that was sitting beside the toolbox and picked it up. “He wanted me to be a mechanic. Named the garage _Winchester and Sons_ and everything. Anyway I saw this car at the dealership - I must have been about fifteen – and I knew I had to have her. I begged the old man, but he made me a deal: I get straight A’s at the end of my sophomore year, and he’d buy me the car.”

Dean turned around, weighing the crowbar a little in his hand as he regarded the Impala. Cas was stony, tensed, eyes dark as he watched Dean and didn’t dare utter a word. It was the most Dean had ever talked about his dad.

“I got A’s in everything except for biology. I was a smart kid, but for whatever reason, that subject always stumped me. I got a C. My old man told me _life’s a bitch, son_ and I thought that was the end of it. But the day I turned sixteen, she was waiting out on the street for me. He even put a little bow on her. It only took me a month to fix her up.”

Dean gave a tiny, sad smile. Then he started to walk around the Impala, the crowbar twirling in his hand.

“Fast-forward four years. I told Dad I didn’t want to be a mechanic, went away to college instead, and I swear he hated me for it. But I loved college. I finally got a taste of what it was like living away from him; of having some freedom. I started to feel more comfortable with myself, with who I was. So I started seeing this guy Nick. It wasn’t anything crazy; just attraction more than anything else. It lasted a while, and then we both went home for the summer.”

Dean paused for a second, focused on Baby’s pristine, gleaming exterior. He could see his face, a little warped and twisted, staring back. “Living with dad was worse than before. One day, things were bad, and I thought _fuck it, I don’t have to put up with this shit anymore._ So I left. Nick was in Wichita, so I drove there. I just wanted some space from dad, to blow off steam, you know? I didn’t think the son of a bitch was gunna follow me.”

Jaw bunching, Dean leaned forward and pressed the sharp edge of the crowbar into the side of the car, until it dug into the layer of paint. Then he started walking. There was a loud screech as the crowbar dragged along the car door, leaving a jagged and impossibly deep scratch in its wake. Cas paled but he didn’t move. 

“Nick and I were just getting into it when he walked in.” Dean pulled the crowbar from the car right before he reached the tire. He inspected the crowbar’s edge; rubbed away some paint that had gathered there. “I don’t even know how he knew what we were doing; must have seen us through the window. But he smashed right through the guy’s door and pulled me off of Nick. Punched me square in the jaw, so hard I lost a back tooth.”

Dean’s eyes lifted to one of the Impala’s back windows. “Told me he didn’t raise me to be a faggot.” He lifted his arm and, with unbelievable force, brought the crowbar down on the window. His face was twisted with anger. The shattering sound of glass echoed around the garage and Cas flinched. Breathing hard through his nose, Dean walked around to the other side of the car. “He beat the shit out of me, right there in Nick’s living room. Broke my nose.”

Dean smashed the crowbar through the passenger’s window. Glass scratched across his knuckles and blood popped to the surface of his skin. He walked to the front of the car. “Got stitches in my lip. Broke two ribs.” He jammed the end of the crowbar into one headlight. “Gave me a concussion. Dislocated my jaw.”

The other headlight followed. Cas was breathing hard now too, but he stood frozen, just watching as Dean single-handedly trashed his beloved car.

“Then he left me there. Spit on the ground beside me then just walked back out the door. And the next thing I knew, I was in Lawrence General Hospital.” The crowbar was shaking a little in his hands. “Mom and Sam were there, and they were both a mess. And I came clean about everything, but when they wanted me to, I didn’t press charges. Because even as I sat in that hospital bed for a fucking week, all I could think about was this _damn car_.”

Dean lifted the crowbar over his shoulder and brought it down, hard, on the Impala’s trunk. A dent appeared instantly but it didn’t feel like enough. So, face screwed up with pain and rage, Dean brought the crowbar down again and again, until the muscles in his arms were burning and he felt hot tears streaming down his face.

Only when the trunk was absolutely mangled did he stop. Breathing hard, he stepped back, his hands aching from where he gripped the crowbar. He didn’t dare look up at Cas. Shaking violently, he turned. He tossed the crowbar aside and it landed on the concrete with a loud _clank._ And though he only wore a t-shirt and ratty jeans he walked out into the freezing January rain, wishing that the water was capable of washing more than just the grime and sweat from his skin.

xXx

All Castiel could think was, how in that moment, nothing felt okay. It wasn’t okay that Dean’s father had beaten him bloody and then gotten away with it. It wasn’t okay that the Impala was now demolished and vandalized, sitting amidst piles of its own glass. Castiel just stared at it, unsure of how to process what he was seeing. It didn’t make sense.

Trembling, he pushed away from the workbench and walked out into the rain. Dean was sitting at one of those picnic tables that some students used in the summer time. His head was in his hands, his knuckles bloody from where they’d cut on the glass. Ignoring the sharp, cold pain of the water soaking through his clothes, Cas walked up to the man without hesitating. He kneeled in front of him and placed two surprisingly steady hands on his knees.

“Dean.” Cas said, raising his voice a little above the rain, “Come back inside.”

Dean was staring at the ground, but his eyes were far away. Cas just fit his hands beneath Dean’s arms and pulled him to his feet. Dean let him.

xXx

Dean wasn’t entirely sure how he ended up back home. He only knew that they hadn’t driven there, because his mind was a constant loop of images of what he'd done to the car.

He figured maybe it didn’t really matter how he got there. He was sitting numbly against the bathtub, shivering in his soaked clothes as Cas ran the bathwater behind him. Lola sat loyally beside him on the floor. Her tongue lapped up the rainwater coating Dean’s arms.

Soon, the bathroom was filled with warm steam. Cas helped him to his feet and then peeled the freezing clothes from his skin, but before Dean stepped obediently into the warm water, he tugged on Cas’s hand. Understanding immediately, Cas pulled off his own clothes, and then they sank down into the warm water together. Cas snuggled behind Dean, his chin resting on the man’s shoulder.

Things were quiet for a while. Steam rolled up into the air and Dean finally stopped shivering. As his senses slowly returned, he realized that he felt raw and sensitive all over, but it wasn’t necessarily a _bad_ feeling. Too often his episodes were followed with a state of numbness or detachment; like he wasn’t sure what was real and what wasn’t. Now, though, there was just a steady feeling of calm, even if that calmness came with feeling exposed.

“Fuck.” He whispered into the quiet bathroom. “I’m gunna have to put aside some money to fix the Impala now.”

“There’s definitely going to have to be some damage control.” Cas agreed quietly. His stubble rubbed pleasantly against Dean’s neck.

“Why didn’t you stop me?” Dean wasn’t mad. Just curious.

“It seemed like something you had to do.” Cas replied, and Dean realized he was right.

“I feel a little better now.” He admitted. Cas’s arms, warm and slippery from the bathwater, held him a little tighter before he took one of Dean’s bruised and scratched hands. He ran his fingers over the sore knuckles gently.

“Whatever happened to Nick?” Cas’s voice was quiet; a breath across Dean’s skin. Dean surprised himself when he didn’t tense up or instantly balk at the question. Suddenly, talking about it felt okay.

“He wanted to stick around. Wanted to look after me; make it work.” Dean answered softly. “But I… couldn’t.”

Cas gave a soft, barely audible sigh. Dean knew it meant that he understood.

“ _Do_ you feel better?” Cas asked after a moment. “That… wasn’t easy to watch. You really scared me, Dean.”

Dean felt his forehead pinch with guilt. “’M’sorry.” He mumbled quietly.

“I don’t want you to apologize.” Cas said quickly. “I just want to be sure you’re okay.”

Dean hesitated, sifting through his thoughts before answering. “Cas, I think I needed to do that. When it was happening, all I felt was this hot anger, but now I feel… I dunno. Lighter. I guess I just feel like maybe I’m _done_ with it. I’m done with having nightmares about my dad and letting him get into my head. Maybe in some twisted way, I needed it; like I fed off it or something. But… not anymore. I’ve had enough.”

Dean was surprised at how easily the words came; at how sincere his voice was. His body relaxed into Cas’s, the water lapping at the sides of the tub and sending more steam into the air.

“So now you know everything.” Dean said after a moment. “I don’t talk about Wichita. With anyone. But… I’ll talk with you. I think I’m ready for that now.”

Those words, slipping so readily past Dean’s lips, still sent a small tendril of fear rising up in his stomach. But it felt _right_ to say them.

Cas let out a shaky breath, twining his fingers with Dean’s beneath the warm, soothing water. Dean shivered with happiness when he pressed a soft, wet kiss to Dean’s neck.

“I always had faith that you would be.” He said.


	24. Hope

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone for being patient with my updates! I love you all.

_“I would take a plane right to you, if I could just stop running.”_

_\- The Damnwells, “I Will Keep The Bad Things From You”_

 

For the next week, Castiel unapologetically coddled Dean. He made sure he ate and that he slept well through the night; he double-checked that he was taking his meds. He gave him back massages and let him pick which TV shows they watched and even offered to help him grade papers.

And though Castiel knew that Dean hated coddling, he didn’t seem to mind it so much this time around. Castiel kept watching for signs of distress or a delayed reaction to what he’d re-lived that afternoon in the garage, but Dean was true to his word. He seemed lighter than before; more clear-headed. And though Castiel felt a little guilty for second-guessing him he readily accepted the truth: that Dean’s attack on the Impala had been more cathartic and long-needed than he could have believed.

Benny hadn’t been at all pleased about the mess in his garage. But both Dean and Castiel knew that the bitching was a way to cover up his real concern. He was quick to offer Dean the use of his old Mustang until the Impala was in working order.

Dean swept the glass off the floor and ordered in new windows and headlight covers, and exactly a week after what they both referred to as “the car incident”, he was ready to get to work.

As they got ready for school on Thursday morning, Dean was excitedly telling Cas how the windows he’d ordered were _way_ better than the ones he’d had anyway – so really the incident was a blessing in disguise – when Castiel decided to take advantage of Dean’s obviously optimistic attitude. He looked over at the man as he buttoned up his shirt.

“Norah has to come in to Lawrence for some sort of meeting tonight.” Cas said, forcing himself to sound casual even as he shot Dean a sidelong glance. “She’s going to bring Tanya so we can see each other for a few hours. I was wondering if you wanted to meet her.”

Dean looked over at Castiel, his green eyes bright. “Yeah, of course I do.” He grinned as he knotted his tie. “I mean, I was gunna stay after school to start working on the car, but that can wait.”

“Actually, I have a meeting with a parent after school.” Cas’s dark eyebrows furrowed as he remembered. There was a freshman who’d handed in a short story with surprisingly grim themes, and he’d scheduled some time to talk to the kid's mother about it. “So you can get started on the car if you want. Norah was going to drop Tanya off at the school, and then maybe we can go get dinner. Though I can’t guarantee we’ll end up eating anywhere sophisticated.”

“What kind of food does she like?” Dean asked as he pulled a dress sweater on overtop of his shirt, pulling the collar up so that his tie was just visible near the top.

“Mostly, French fries with obscene amounts of ketchup.”

Dean snorted. “Sounds perfect to me.”

xXx 

Dean let out a sigh of relief as he pulled on an old grey t-shirt and jeans. He shoved his dress clothes into a bag under his desk and then retreated to the school’s garage, his fingers practically itching to get to work rebuilding the car that he himself had destroyed.

It was a nonsensical situation, Dean knew, but there was something necessary about it.

Benny was sitting at the old desk near the garage doors, his paw-like hands shuffling around grease stained papers. Dean nodded at him somewhat sheepishly.

“Look who it is.” Benny muttered. “The Incredible Hulk himself.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “You’re real cute.”

“Well thanks pumpkin, but I’m taken.” Benny replied smoothly, chuckling when a blush rose to Dean’s cheeks. “Your windows are in the back shop, and the sander’s on the workbench. You’re lucky that scratch didn’t get down to the primer."

“No kidding.” Dean muttered, kneeling down to inspect the scratch again. It was going to be the easiest bit of damage to fix, so he might as well start there.

Behind him, Benny stood up and shrugged his Carhartt jacket on his broad shoulders. “I’m outta here, brother. Do me a favour and don’t wreck anything else while I’m gone.”

Dean glared at him over his shoulder, but Benny just grinned before disappearing out the door.

For the next twenty minutes, Dean busied himself with assembling everything he needed to fix the scratch. He could feel his brain shifting into _mechanic_ mode when the door opened again, and Cas stepped through, followed closely by a girl who only barely reached his hip. 

Dean dropped the rag he’d been holding and walked over, and Cas shot him a reassuring smile before looking down at the girl.

“Tanya, this is Dean.”

Swallowing his nerves, Dean kneeled down in front of the girl. She had waste-long blonde hair, which Dean assumed she had gotten from her mother, but he could pick out Cas in her features right away. Her big eyes were a bright blue and very focused, as if she were constantly taking in information and stowing it away. Her smile was small and careful. She stood with a quiet sort of certainty, and Dean got the impression that despite her age, she took herself very seriously.

Bearing this in mind, he held out his hand to her. “Hi Tanya.”

Tanya looked at his hand, and she smiled a little bigger as she reached out and took it. Her grip was surprisingly steady. “I talked to you on the phone.”

Dean smiled. “Yep, that was me.”

“You don’t look how you sound.” The girl said unabashedly. Dean tilted his head a little.

“How do I sound?”

Tanya thought for a moment. “Bigger.”

Dean laughed, and Castiel grimaced. _“Tanya.”_

The girl looked up at him. “What? I’m only being _honest_.” 

Castiel looked at Dean apologetically.

“What are you working on?” Tanya asked suddenly. Dean looked over his shoulder.

“Cars. Wanna see?” He looked back at her. She nodded her head enthusiastically. Dean stood up and gestured to the Impala, in all its disheveled glory.

“This is my car.” He said. “I have to fix her by the end of the weekend, or the mechanics teacher is gunna kick my butt.”

Tanya gave a small giggle, her quick eyes taking in the vacant window frames and dented metal. “Why is it broken?”

Dean could feel Castiel stiffen beside him, but he replied easily, “A monster got it.”

Tanya’s eyes widened. “Like a werewolf?” 

Dean considered this, and then nodded. _“Exactly_ like a werewolf.”

“What happened to it?” She asked now. Dean wasn’t quite sure if she actually believed him, or if she just really enjoyed pretending. At her age, he figured either option was harmless.

“I got him.” Dean said with conviction. “Shot him with a silver bullet and buried him in the backyard, next to the vampire I killed last week.”

Tanya’s eyes widened further as she looked at Dean. “Awesome.” She whispered.

Cas groaned a little and pinched the bridge of his nose. Dean chuckled.

“Come on, Tanya.” Cas said. “Let’s leave Dean to his work. You can draw in my classroom while I have my meeting.”

Tanya’s smile fell instantly. “Can’t I stay here?”

“No, honey, a garage isn’t a good place for kids.” Cas said gently, but Dean looked around at him.

“I don’t mind.” He said. “It gets kind of quiet in here anyways. I’m not working with any power tools today, so she won’t be in danger or anything.”

Cas squinted at Dean and then looked at Tanya. The girl was basically bouncing on the spot, her eyes pleading. “Promise you’ll behave?” He asked her. Tanya nodded again.

“I promise, I promise.” She said quickly.

“All right.” He said, and Tanya grinned. He looked at Dean. “I should be done in forty-five minutes. Just… come get me if you need anything. Or call. I’ll keep my phone on.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Oh my god, overprotective much? Just go, we’ll be fine.”

Cas gave a small huff, shot Tanya another stern glance, and then reluctantly left the garage.

Dean turned to find Tanya kneeling beside the car, a tiny finger pressing into the scratch in the paint.

“Careful.” Dean said, walking back over to the bench and grabbing a thick pad of sandpaper. “Sometimes scratches are sharp. Car paint is really tough.”

Tanya pulled her finger back and looked over at him. “Why?”

“Because it has to be, to protect the car from rocks and hail and stuff like that.” He replied, kneeling beside Tanya and beginning to sand the surface of the paint. She crossed her legs beneath her and watched him with interest.

“Oh.” She said. “Do you know lots about cars?”

“Yep. My dad taught me when I was a kid.” Dean answered. His chest tightened at the mention of his father, but it felt like a habitual action more than anything else. He forced himself to take a deep breath and willed the tension away. _Enough._

“My dad doesn’t know anything about cars.” Tanya said. “He used to have a motorcycle, but he sold it because my mom told him to. She says motorcycles are dangerous.”

Dean’s eyebrows shot up. Cas had had a motorcycle? “Well, she’s not wrong.”

“Mom says that you’re daddy’s _boyfriend.”_ She said suddenly, and Dean’s head snapped up. He’d expected to find a somewhat confused expression staring at him, but Tanya’s face was open and curious.

“She’s right about that too.” He said after a moment. “Is that okay with you?”

Tanya nodded. “I like you. And Daddy was lonely, except he never talked about it. Mom says that it’s okay that Dad likes boys because some people are different. Just like Hallie Irwin’s older sister likes other _girls.”_

Dean just looked at her in amusement. He knew that Norah was okay with Cas’s sexuality, but he was starting to realize that Tanya’s mom was possibly more open-minded than he gave her credit for. It was an unbelievably relieving feeling.

“Your mom sounds nice.” Dean said, and Tanya smiled bigger.

“I like that her and dad are nice to each other, because Jenny Miller’s parents live in different houses and they fight all the time. Except I wish I could see Daddy more, but it’s okay because mom says his family is _crazyyy.”_ Her young voice drew out the “y” sound, and Dean laughed.

“You have no idea.” He muttered, looking back at where he was steadily smoothing out the scratch with the sandpaper.

“Can I help?” Tanya asked suddenly. Dean looked over at her.

“Uh… sure.” He said. He grabbed another piece of sandpaper from his back pocket and handed it to her. “Like this.”

Tanya watched closely as Dean rubbed across the damaged paint, and she did the same. Dean knew her small arms were nowhere near strong enough to make a difference, but the kid seemed to be pleased as punch to be helping.

Once Cas was done with his meeting, the three of them went to a place downtown that was infamous for being the tackiest 50’s diner in the state. Tanya managed to talk her way into a milkshake, and was unbelievably excited when Dean gave her a quarter for the jukebox.

Cas watched them, the most overwhelming look of mingled relief and happiness on his face.

xXx

On Saturday morning, Castiel woke up slowly. He was half-aware before he actually opened his eyes. There was sunlight on his face, warming his skin, and when he breathed in, he picked up a familiar smell. It smelled like aftershave and fabric softener and this underlying masculine scent and Cas breathed in deeper. _Dean._  

He didn’t open his eyes yet. Stretching slightly, he could feel soft, warm skin sliding against his. His legs were caught between Dean’s. His chest lightly touched the other man’s every time he breathed in. He could feel gentle breath against his lips.

The apartment was quiet. Not even Lola was awake yet; he could feel warmth from the young dog’s body somewhere near their feet. Winter birds sang outside of the window.

Slowly, he opened his eyes, blinking against the light streaming through Dean’s bedroom window. Dean himself was still asleep, arms laying loosely between his and Cas’s body, his head resting just inches from Cas on a single pillow. Castiel’s arms were draped across Dean’s waist – apparently their favourite position, as Castiel often woke with them this way – and he pulled the man a little closer with a sigh.

They were still naked, not a scrap of clothing left due to their extra-curricular activities from the night before. When Cas moved, he could feel slight twinges of pain from the marks scratched down his back, and he was fairly certain Dean had sucked a hard bruise onto his neck. He would have to be sure it was covered when they went into school on Monday. But he could hardly bring himself to care right then.

Cas had always thought that he wasn’t a morning person. But now, he was realizing, he just wasn’t an _early riser._ With Dean, Cas liked to wake slowly. He liked to trace constellations on Dean’s skin, connecting freckle to freckle, while contemplating lazily whether he wanted to drift back to sleep. He loved seeing Dean’s dazed eyes blinking awake at him, he fucking _loved_ how raspy and deep Dean’s voice was after he just woke.

Castiel was definitely a morning person, if his mornings included Dean.

Smiling in sleepy happiness, Cas pressed closer to Dean. He nuzzled his face into Dean’s neck and inhaled the smell of him, not caring that he was slightly adopting the behaviour of a house cat. Castiel had always been, deep down, a clingy and cuddly person. He’d just never felt comfortable enough to unleash that side of himself – until now.

Cas pressed languid kisses to Dean’s neck, mapping out a trail from his collarbone up to the pulse point behind his ear. Their bodies pulsed gentle warmth into each other and the blankets created a peaceful cocoon. Cas pressed even closer, until his and Dean’s body touched from their hips right up to their chests.

Dean stirred, a low sound of happy surprise rumbling from his throat. He shifted, tilting his head to allow Castiel more access.

“Morning.” He rumbled groggily, and Castiel hummed against his skin.

“Good morning.”

Cas just kept kissing, moving to Dean’s shoulders and then down his chest. Dean let his eyes fall closed again.

Castiel loved Dean like this; body relaxed and pliant with sleep, his mind fuzzy and blissful. Dean brought one hand up to Castiel's hair and ran his fingers through it slowly, letting Castiel worship his body with his lips before he tugged a little. Understanding, Cas moved up and covered Dean’s mouth with his own.

The kiss was slow and hot. Dean traced Cas’s bottom lip with his tongue, following the curve of it into his mouth, and Cas’s breath stuttered. His heart, still sluggish with sleep, began to pick up a little. He gripped Dean’s waist and Dean gave a soft groan of approval.

Dean brought one hand up to cradle Cas’s face, and Cas let his head tilt back as Dean kissed him deeper. It was all tongues and heat and soft lips, slow and not urgent at all, and god it was so _good._

Cas breathed a small whimper and Dean pulled him closer, his thumb brushing along the stubble of Cas’s jaw. They kissed like this for what felt like hours, their bodies arching into one another without any real need for release. Cas let the sun and Dean’s touch warm him all the way through. And somewhere between Dean’s fingers against his pulse and their mouths melting together, Cas thought how this was his happy place – early mornings in Dean’s bed, where Dean was so much more tender and soft and loving than he ever allowed himself to be outside, where other people could see. But  _he_ got to see this; Dean was this way for  _him._

Finally, they managed to pull away from each other, even if it was only a few inches. Cas opened his eyes and let himself take in the beautiful green, flecked with gold, that was staring back at him.

For a while they didn’t say anything. They just stared at each other, no words at all needed. Cas traced a steady line up Dean’s side, from his ribs down to his hip and back again, and Dean’s hand was still cupping Cas’s face. Cas was almost surprised when Dean didn’t break their eye contact; didn’t shift uncomfortably and throw out suggestions for breakfast before scrambling out of bed. But then, maybe he wasn’t surprised at all. This just seemed _easy,_ all of a sudden; to gaze unabashedly into one another’s eyes as if they would never need anything or anyone else. 

Then again, that’s exactly how Cas felt. He would never need again, as long as he had Dean.

“Dammit.” Dean breathed suddenly, his voice barely a whisper. “I’m so in love with you.”

Cas’s chest ached with pure, blinding happiness. Dean looked a little nervous, though; as if this revelation still worried him. Cas’s brow creased with emotion and he leaned forward, pressing a soft, tender kiss to Dean’s waiting lips. “I love you, Dean.”

He kissed Dean’s cheek, then his eyelids, his forehead, his nose, repeating the words between each press of lips just to be sure that Dean heard. When he was done, Dean pulled him closer, his strong arms wrapping around Cas’s body. They sighed into each other and relaxed. Cas tucked his head beneath Dean’s chin. He thought of how their skin probably smelled like one another; he thought of how much he loved that.

Their breathing fell into a steady rhythm again. The clock on the bedside table read 10:45, but neither of them moved to get up. Lola stretched and yawned at their feet.

Cas was just about to fall asleep again, when there was the sudden sound of stomping and voices above their heads. Cas looked up at the ceiling as Dean groaned.

“It’s too early for this.” He grumbled.

“It’s almost eleven.” Cas reasoned, though he shared Dean’s sentiment.

“Yeah, on a _Saturday.”_ Dean shot back. “People need to learn how to sleep in. I swear, someday… I’ll live someplace where I won’t have to hear every time my neighbour flushes their toilet.”

Cas chuckled a little, and he shifted back to look at Dean’s face. It was the first time he’d ever really heard Dean talk about the future. He couldn’t help the curiosity, mingled with a little hope, that swirled in his gut. “Where would you like to live?”

Dean let his eyes settle on Cas. Those green irises were bright, so bright in the morning time, and Cas thought how he could get lose in their depths forever and not mind.

“Outside of the city.” Dean answered after a moment. “I want a garage for Baby, and I could buy my own tools and maybe get a few other project cars.”

“Very manly.” Cas said approvingly, and Dean chuckled a little.

“I’d want a big kitchen, too.” He went on, playing with the ends of Cas’s hair. “With two stoves and one of those independent range tops. We could have everyone over for Thanksgiving and barbecues in the summer.”

Dean seemed to have missed his wording, but Cas’s eyes sparked. “We?”

Immediately, a furious blush bloomed across Dean’s skin, from his cheeks, down his neck and to his chest. He dropped his gaze and shifted away from Cas minutely; Cas could practically feel the man shutting down.

Cas reached and tilted Dean’s chin up. “Hey,” He said softly, and Dean raised his eyes again, “I like the ‘we’. Very much. I just didn’t know… that you actually thought that way.”

Dean frowned a little. “I was a little scared to, at first. But now…” He took a short, determined breath. “I can’t stand to think about my future if you’re not in it, Cas. I’m sorry if that freaks you out but-”

Dean’s words were cut off when Cas leaned forward, pressing a desperately affectionate kiss to Dean’s lips. “Not freaked out.” Cas mumbled against them, before kissing them a few more times. Then he pulled back. “My future is with you, Dean. It’s always been you.”

Dean looked into those serious, certain blue eyes for a moment before pulling Cas in, kissing him with fierce love and determination. Cas immediately melted. 

If they didn’t get out of bed until well past noon, then nobody else knew but them.

xXx

When Dean worked on the car later that day, he had a very different set of hands helping him. And technically they weren’t even helping. Sam lounged on a cooler he’d pulled from the Impala’s damaged trunk, his long legs stretched out in front of him as he watched Dean work on the car, a can of beer in hand.

He made no move to help, but then, Dean wasn’t complaining. Sam was about as hopeless with cars as Cas was hopeless at cooking. This had been their routine for years; Dean beneath the hood or sprawled beneath some car or other (usually Sam’s), while his younger brother talked his ear off from where he sat perched on a cooler or workbench.

“He introduced you to his daughter?” Sam asked now, raising his eyebrows at his older brother. “That’s a big deal, man.”

Dean was currently attempting to hammer the dents out of the trunk door, and he cast Sam a sidelong glance. “Yeah, I know. So?”

“So…” Sam took a sip of his beer. “You guys have been dating for like, two months. You don’t think you’re moving a little fast?”

Dean bit his lip. “I know we are – technically. But I dunno. It feels different with Cas; it doesn’t feel too fast or too soon. It feels natural for us. You know?”

“Not really.” Sam admitted with a little laugh. Dean looked up at him, surprised. “I mean, obviously I love Sarah more than anything. But we’ve always had to work really hard for what we have.”

Dean frowned as he turned back to the trunk door, smoothing his hand over where a dent had nearly popped back into place. “What, you think it’s all rainbows and butterflies for me and Cas?”

“I know it’s not.” Sam replied. “But there’s something different about how you two are with each other.”

Dean’s stomach fluttered, but he didn’t look over at Sam. “Different how?”

Sam shrugged. “I dunno. Just… sort of like everything fits. I mean even if it’s only been two months, I still can’t really imagine you with anyone else.”

Dean’s chest tightened. He didn’t really know what to say to that and his first instinct was to brush it off. But Dean realized that he didn’t want to, so he didn’t say anything, but just let Sam’s words settle into his brain so he could replay them later.

“So what’s she like? Cas’s daughter?” Sam asked curiously. Dean grinned involuntarily.

“She’s actually pretty cool. Talks like it’s going out of style, but I don’t mind.” Dean hammered at the dent a few more times. Finally, the metal popped back into place and he smiled triumphantly. “And Jesus, she’s just like Cas. She has these big blue eyes and takes everything really seriously. Smart as hell, too.”

Sam smiled. “Sounds like a nice kid.”

“She is.” Dean nodded, taking the hammer to the dent on the other end of the trunk door. “And I was all expecting to play the role of Cas’s work friend or something, but the kid already knew we were dating.”

Sam’s eyebrows shot up. “Wow. How did that go?”

“She didn’t bat an eye. I guess some parents are just more progressive these days.” The second dent popped out, and Dean stepped back and surveyed the rest of the damage.

Sam fell quiet then, but it was a strange sort of quiet. Dean looked over at him to see a pensive look on his brother’s face. “What?”

Sam looked up at him, brushed his thumb across his lips hesitantly and then said, “Actually, since we’re on the subject of kids… I want to talk to you about something.”

Apprehension tightened Dean’s muscles and he set the hammer on the workbench. He guessed that Sam was about to tell him one of two things. One, that his and Sarah’s adoption application had been accepted. Or two, that Sarah was pregnant again.

Dean felt dread at the latter option. Sarah’s chances of carrying to term were slim, and he couldn’t watch them go through another miscarriage.

“Okay. Shoot.” He said cautiously, leaning against the tail end of the Impala and watching his brother closely. Sam looked down at his beer. He tapped his finger on the top a few times before he said,

“We heard back from the adoption agency in October. We got put on a three-year waiting list.” He said quietly.

“In _October?_ Dude, why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because there wasn’t much to tell.” Sam took another sip of his beer. “We knew it would take a long time, but we weren’t expecting three years. It was sorta discouraging.”

Dean frowned at Sam in sympathy.

“Anyway,” Sam went on, “Sarah and I’ve been talking. She really hit it off with Asher; they were practically attached at the hip. And Michael was coming around near the end there, and it was shitty as hell to watch them get carted off to wherever they are now. So we decided we’re going to apply to be their foster parents.”

Dean’s heart stopped. “Are you… are you serious?”

“I know it’s a _huge_ responsibility.” Sam said hurriedly. “But we’ve been ready for this for years. They’re both good kids, and Sarah and I can afford to give them what they need. And I dunno, they just seemed to settle in so well with us, it felt wrong to let them go.”

Dean’s throat felt tight. He couldn’t talk; just looked at Sam and hardly dared to breathe. The hope that was blooming in his chest was so strong, he was afraid it would suffocate him.

“We called CPS yesterday, and they’re gunna be setting up a bunch of interviews, and we have to go through a background check and a home visit. But if that all checks out, then… I guess we’ll be Michael and Asher’s foster parents.” Sam said this lightly, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. But his nervous eyes betrayed him.

Dean swallowed thickly. His jaw flexed. “That’s…” His voice came out funny and he cleared his throat. “That’s freaking great, Sammy.”

Without hesitating, Dean walked over and hauled his brother to his feet, pulling him into a bone-crushing hug. Sam let out a grunt, but he clapped Dean on the back all the same.

“Yeah?” He asked weakly. “I was sorta expecting you to be a little skeptical about this.”

“Are you kidding me?” Dean pulled back, looking away from Sam as he blinked his eyes forcefully. “You and Sarah are gunna be great. You’ll blow through those interviews no problem. Trust me.”

Sam allowed his face to split into a wide, dimpled grin. “I hope you’re right.”


	25. The Counter-Offer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy dramatic chapter Batman!! 
> 
> I love you guys and every single comment you leave me <3

Castiel hadn’t liked Benny’s Mustang. There was rust along the bottom, which somehow always managed to get onto his pants. It smelled like cigarette smoke and takeout. The leather on the seats was cracked, and the radio was stuck on the city’s Top 40 station, which of course meant unfathomable bitchiness from Dean. Also, it was a standard, and while Dean drove stick quite well, Cas found the stop-and-start movement jarring.

Driving home on Monday, he breathed a sigh of relief as he settled into the familiar passenger seat of the Impala. The new windows were pristine, the trunk looked untouched, and the side had received new paint. It almost looked better than it had before.

And it smelled like _Dean._ Like his shampoo and dust from the road and that underlying smell from the man himself, which Cas could never quite put his finger on.

“Could we stop at my place for a quick moment?” Castiel asked as Dean started up the car. The engine rumbled pleasantly. “I think I ran out of clean clothes at your place.”

“Sure thing, boss.” Dean replied easily, looking behind him to back out of his parking space. Castiel watched him for a moment and then averted his eyes.

It had been on his mind constantly: this back-and-forth routine that he and Dean had going on. They almost never stayed at Castiel’s motel, since it was cheap and tacky and Lola usually necessitated that they stay at Dean’s. But it seemed unnecessary to be doing this thing where Castiel only went home when he ran out of clothes (or on the off occasion that he and Dean fought). Cas now kept a toothbrush in Dean’s bathroom, and his French coffee press sat on his kitchen counter, and he even had a _bookshelf_ there now for God’s sake.

Castiel had practically no desire to find a place of his own. If he did, he was sure he and Dean would just continue on in this way anyways. So there didn’t seem to be a point. Why spend money on an apartment or condo he would never stay at?

The motel room seemed like a waste of money, now. And an inconvenience. But he didn’t dare broach the subject of moving in with Dean. It was too soon; Castiel knew that.

And, of course, there was the niggling thought that Castiel had never lived with anyone else before. Not anyone who wasn’t family. Maybe this was only working because he had the motel room as a safety net? Would things go wrong once he and Dean were _forced_ to live together instead of choosing to? Castiel didn’t really want to know.

His mind was so focused on chewing over these thoughts, and Dean was so enthralled to be driving Baby again, that neither of them was aware of a conspicuous black sedan waiting near the end of the parking lot of Cas’s motel.

Inside, Cas and Dean were arguing over just how dorky one of Cas’s argyle sweaters was, when there was a firm knock at the door. Cas frowned a little at Dean, dropping the sweater back into his drawer before walking over and peaking through the peephole.

Standing certainly, figures distorted by the orb of glass, were Uriel and Ion. Castiel reeled back, cursing a little under his breath as adrenaline shot through him. He threw Dean a warning glance before swinging open the door.

“What are you doing here?” He asked immediately. “You said the end of January. We have another week.”

Despite how Cas was standing in the doorway, Uriel shouldered past him. His beetle-like eyes looked over the motel room and then landed on Dean.

“Oh good.” Dean smirked. “Pain and Panic are here. How’s King Hades?”

Uriel’s lip lifted with distaste. “Always a pleasure, Dean.”

“Cas is right.” Dean went on, narrowing his eyes at Uriel. “You guys aren’t due for another week.”

Uriel just sighed and stuffed his hands in his pockets. He looked at a pad of motel stationary, eyeing the cartoon owl shrewdly. Ion closed the motel room door and stood in front of it, his hands clasped in front of him. Cas’s eyes immediately darted around, looking for things he could potentially use as a weapon. The knives at the kitchenette seemed to be his only choice.

“Relax.” Uriel said to both of them. “I haven’t come to collect. I said the end of January, and I’m true to my word. Just like I said I wouldn’t tell anyone about Castiel. Our prior contract still stands.”

“Then why are you here?” Castiel asked, surprised when his voice came out gruff and low. He forgot what this felt like; the adrenaline of not knowing if someone was about to put a gun to your head; the rush that comes from a fight. 

“You know how this works.” Uriel replied. “Your father isn’t a loan shark; he runs a business based on _loyalty._ Some things are more important than money. Favours, deals, alliances…”

“Okay, I get it.” Dean said. He’d shifted just slightly so he was standing in front of Castiel – not all the way, but just so a broad shoulder partly blocked him. Castiel’s eyes darted to Dean’s firm stance, wondering if he’d be able to shove Dean out of harm’s way if he needed to. “You wipe out the twenty-thousand-dollar debt if I carry out a hit or something, right?”

Uriel smiled a thin, cold smile. “Precisely.”

“No.” Castiel growled. “I will not permit Dean to kill anyone.”

Dean looked around at him. “ _Permit?_ Cas, we might not have a choice – unless you got twenty grand you can just pull out of your ass.”

Cas frowned at Dean’s choice of wording, but Dean turned back to Uriel. “Who is it? Lawrence isn’t exactly tiny, but I doubt we got many crime bosses living around here. Who would you have beef with?”

“The reason isn’t your concern.” Uriel replied. “All you need to know is the name.”

“All right, the name then.” Dean gritted out, his shoulders tense. Castiel had moved his hand behind him and slowly grabbed a knife from the kitchen counter. His hand wrapped around it firmly, though was praying he wouldn’t have to use it.

“Not until you’ve agreed.” Uriel said. “You kill the man, no questions asked, and deliver the body to a pre-determined location. We have our connections with the police force here so don’t worry about being arrested. Do this, and you’re debt is gone. Hell, I might even forget that I saw Castiel all together.”

Castiel’s jaw flexed. Dean glanced at him over his shoulder. Cas tried to shake his head at him, just minutely, but Dean turned to face Uriel again.

“Deal.” He said. Uriel extended his hand, and Dean shook it. “Name?”

“Walter Paul.”

xXx 

Dean’s kitchen clock read 2:41 AM, and they hadn’t even _tried_ to go to bed. Dean was pacing restlessly, Lola following at his heels, as Cas sat staring morosely at the pile of luggage near Dean’s door.

The motel manager had kicked him out. Apparently before they’d arrived, Uriel and Ion had roughed the guy up pretty good, demanding access to Cas’s motel room and the personal information he had on file. Luckily the motel manager was the type of man who kept a sawed-off shotgun at his desk. He was able to defend himself along with Cas’s privacy, but didn’t hesitate to kick Cas out once the black sedan had peeled away down the street.

Whatever trouble Cas was in, he’d said, he didn’t want it showing up at his motel.

So Castiel was technically homeless (again) and nowhere near okay with that fact.

“I wish you’d let me check in to another motel.” Cas said for what must have been the hundredth time. Dean threw his head back dramatically and groaned.

“Cas, I said _no.”_ He growled.

“I don’t want to be an imposition.”

“You stay here all the damn time!”

Cas threw him a look that said _you know what I mean._ Dean rolled his eyes.

“Look, just unpack your stuff, and we’ll talk about… _this_ later.” He said. “But right now, we sorta got bigger fish to fry.”

Castiel sighed. “You have a point.”

Dean stopped pacing and leaned against the kitchen counter instead.

“You can’t kill Walter, Dean.” Cas said quietly. Dean closed his eyes.

“I don’t have a choice.” He replied. “I don’t have the money, and I don’t have anything else to offer those vultures.”

“There has to be another way…”

“There’s not.” Dean said with conviction. “You know, it’s not that bad. Charlie did a background check; the guy’s got a ton of priors. We know firsthand that he’s a piece of shit. I was gunna hunt him down and beat the crap out of him anyways.”

Cas grimaced but he ignored that last bit. “Your father was a piece of shit. And you still cared when he died.”

Dean swallowed. He ducked his head and passed a hand over his eyes.

“Look, it’s not like I _want_ to.” Dean said. “But it’s him or us. That’s the hand we’ve been dealt. I know how to handle a gun, I could make it quick and painless, and it’s not like he’s leaving a whole lot behind…”

Dean trailed off and they were both quiet for a few moments. Castiel went back to glaring at his suitcases.

“Fuck.” Dean whispered after a moment, the full misery of his situation crashing down on him. “I should’ve known this had to happen.”

Castiel looked up at that. “What?”

Dean shrugged. “ _This._ The inevitable shit-storm that fucks everything up. I never thought I could ever have a life like this.”

Cas stood up now, moving to stand in front of Dean. The other man just looked at him miserably. “Like what?”

“Like…” Dean took a shaky breath as he tried to find the words. “I dunno, a life like _real people._ I get to sleep with you – and I mean actually sleep with you, so that I can wake up with you in my bed beside me. I get to cook you supper and straighten your tie before work. Shit, Cas, I even kiss you goodbye before we go into our classrooms each morning. We kiss like real people do, and I fucking love it but now, either way, they’re gunna take that away from us.”

Dean’s heart felt like it was breaking and swelling at the same time. He’d never said such horribly sappy, affectionate words in his life, but it was worth it just to see the love so plain in Castiel’s eyes. But it hurt, so damn much, because it just reminded him of everything he had to lose.

“I’ve wanted this my entire life.” Dean went on, quietly but bravely, feeling like he couldn’t stop now that he’d opened the floodgates. “This stupidly average, domestic life, because I never had it or even knew what it felt like. And I never told a single soul. But with you… I can’t chance not having this all the time, with you, because now that I’ve had it… I don’t think I could go back to how I was.”

Dean felt tears pricking at his eyes, but thank God, he didn’t let them fall. Castiel’s face had softened. It was filled with such wonder and tender adoration that Dean thought he might break if he looked at him for too long, but he didn’t let himself look away.

“Dean,” Cas said softly, and Dean closed his eyes, loving how Cas’s voice had always made that word sound like so much _more._ “Nobody is taking me away from you. I want this life just as much as you do. You can’t give up… please.”

Cas reached out and gently cupped Dean’s face in his hand. Dean leaned into it.

“I don’t know how to get out of this one.” Dean whispered.

“We’ll figure it out.” Cas said softly. “Together. I’ve never had this either, Dean. I’m not letting go without a fight.”

xXx 

The way the next week passed felt something like a stilted nightmare. Everywhere Dean and Cas went, the black sedan was creeping in the shadows. Sometimes Dean could see it from his classroom window. Cas explained it was to ensure that they didn’t decide to fly the coop.

He and Cas had no real plan. Dean suggested to track down Walter Paul and attempt to stage some sort of false murder, but Cas was quick to point out that they needed to produce a body. Castiel half-jokingly suggested murdering Uriel and Ion instead, but they both knew that would bring the wrath of Cas’s entire family down on them.

To add to the stress, Michael didn’t show up in class at all. His group home reported to CPS that he’d bailed sometime on Tuesday night, and by Friday morning, he was a runaway kid. The police checked in at Sam’s, but they’d seen neither hide nor tail of him. Walter had a warrant out for his arrest for charges of child abuse but the guy hadn’t been seen in weeks. Soon, police bulletins asking for information about Michael were popping up on the radio and on the local TV station.

Friday night Dean saw watching one such broadcast, his hands clasped over his mouth as he stared at Michael’s school photo emblazoned on the TV screen. Cas was beside him, abandoning his attempt to read in order to watch the broadcast.

“Fuck it.” Dean said suddenly, causing Lola to jump a little. “I can’t just sit here. Let’s go to Sam’s, maybe we can all go out and look for him.”

Cas agreed readily, his usually calm face taught with worry. Dean made sure Cas didn’t see when he quickly grabbed his father’s Beretta and tucked it into the waist of his jeans.

On the drive to Sam’s, Dean noticed the black sedan steadily following a few blocks back. He grit his teeth.

Sam’s house was quiet and desolate. Sarah looked worse than Dean had seen her in months; there were bags under her eyes, and her dark hair was pulled back in a frenzied ponytail with strands of hair pulled out. She sat at the kitchen table with a cup of neglected coffee.

“It was hard enough after they went to CPS.” Sam said quietly from the doorway. Dean was leaning there with him. “But since Michael went missing… she didn’t take it well.”

Cas had sat down next to Sarah, and was now talking in a calm, soothing voice that Sarah seemed to be responding to. Cas’s steady hands were resting on top of hers, such a simple and kind gesture that had Dean’s heart warming with pride.

Even now, in the middle of a waking nightmare, Dean was still filled with the revelation that he was so fucking in love.

“Heard anything from Asher?” Dean asked.

“The police already talked to him. He gave them Michael’s usual hang-outs and the names of friends. Nobody’s seen him.” Sam replied quietly. “There’s no record of him being at the bus stop, either, so he’s most likely still in town.”

“He’s gotta be on the move.” Dean said. “If he were hiding out somewhere, they would have found him already. He’s probably just laying low, but not staying in one place.”

“You think?” Sam asked seriously.

“It’s what I would do.” Dean shrugged. “It’s called ‘sitting duck’ for a reason.”

“All right, well… it wouldn’t hurt to drive around for a bit.” Sam rubbed his bottom lip with his thumb. “We could check the quieter neighborhoods, maybe some parks. He wouldn’t be anywhere with too many people, because then he’d be spotted.”

Dean nodded. “Sounds good.”

Sam was moving toward Sarah when there was a sudden hard, hurried knock on the door. Cas and Sarah looked up as Sam went to answer it.

They didn’t have a peephole, so Sam just swung it open. Standing on their front step, clothes rumpled and dirty, was Michael. He was breathing heavily as if he’d been running. He looked at Sam with a wild, apologetic expression.

“Michael!” Sam’s breathed incredulously, before pulling the boy – dirt and all – into a crushing hug. Michael didn’t hesitate to hug him back, his hands clinging to Sam’s flannel shirt. Sarah and Cas leapt up from the table and rushed out into the hall.

“’M’sorry.” Michael said miserably. “I couldn’t stay at the group home, it was terrible, I couldn’t do it.”

“It’s okay.” Sam said, still hugging him. “It’s okay, don’t worry about it.”

They just stood like that for a moment, before Sam let Michael go and then Sarah was brushing past him to get her own hug.

“You scared us.” She said shakily. Over her shoulder, Michael looked utterly surprised.

“I didn’t mean to.”

Sarah let him go and swiped at her eyes. Michael looked around at them guiltily, and Dean thought how he probably had only expected to find Sam and Sarah at home.

“Are you all right?” Dean asked, his tone making it clear he had no patience for bull shitting. “You were gone for three days.”

Michael nodded. “I’m all right. I mean, sleeping in unlocked cars wasn’t fun, but… I managed.”

“You’re not hurt?” Dean pressed. Michael shook his head.

All four of them seemed to relax a little, finally allowing themselves to believe what was before their eyes.

“Michael, this is our fault.” Sam said, and though Dean was about to cut in, he kept going. “We shouldn’t have let CPS take you guys. I knew a group home would be a bad idea.”

“It’s not your fault.” Michael muttered, looking down at his hands. “You didn’t have a choice.”

“Well, regardless, it’s not happening again.” Sam said firmly. Michael looked up. “Sarah and I applied to be foster parents for you and Asher.”

Michael was wide-eyed. “Are you serious?” 

Sam nodded. “They already did a few interviews and the home visit, so if our background checks clear, you and Asher should be living with us from now on. I mean… if that’s okay with you guys.”

Michael nodded fervently. “That’s okay. We’ll be good, I promise, you won’t even notice we’re here.”

Sarah frowned. “Michael, you don’t have to promise that. You can mess up the place, fail a test, make mistakes. It’s okay. It’s what kids do.”

Michael looked like he didn’t understand a word coming out of Sarah’s mouth, but he nodded all the same. Dean’s throat felt tight, just watching all of this, and Cas seemed to sense it. He reached out and took Dean’s hand firmly in his own; squeezing slightly and letting his thumb rub reassuring circles across Dean’s palm.

“We should take you to the police station.” Dean said, finding his voice with the help of Cas’s grounding contact. “They probably got half the town out looking for you.”

“Will I be in trouble?” Michael asked. Sam shook his head.

“There’s no law against running away. And runaways aren’t exactly rare when it comes to group homes. They’ll just want to know you’re safe.”

Michael still looked nervous. But he nodded.

Outside, Dean was still holding Cas’s hand as they walked back to the Impala. Michael stood uncertainly by Sam’s Honda with Sarah as Sam locked up the house.

Things weren’t fixed – not by a long shot – but Dean started to feel like maybe this was a sign that things would be okay. He let out a shaky breath and gave Cas’s hand a gentle squeeze.

“So this is what you went running back to.” A rasped and slurred voice broke through the night air, startling all of them. Across the street, an old car was parked hap-hazardly against the curb. Walter Paul was leaning against it. His face was covered in unkempt beard and his denim jacket was stained and dirty. His eyes were glazed, but somehow he managed to focus on Michael.

Dean immediately dropped Cas’s hand and went to stand in front of the kid. His eyes were wide, terrified as they fixed on his father. Sarah’s arm was tight around his shoulders.

“Michael, go back inside the house.” He said, voice dangerous and low. Sarah went to move with him.

“Who the hell do you think you are, bossing my kid around? I’m his father.” Walter began to walk toward them. His gate was a little swayed, but he could walk well enough. As he neared, Dean picked up on the smell of sweat and beer. It was a horribly familiar smell and his guts turned with nausea.

“You’re not getting anywhere near him.” Dean growled. “I don’t care who you are.”

“Oh, mister tough guy.” Walter sneered. He reached behind him and brought out a rather old handgun. Sarah gave a small gasp and Michael tensed. He pointed it at Dean’s chest.

Dean was acutely aware of his own gun tucked into his pants, but he didn’t dare move. He had no idea what Walter was capable of, and there was no way he was risking moving and setting Walter off.

“I’m going home.” Walter said gruffly. “And my son is coming with me.”

Dean swallowed tightly and didn't move. Cas was standing beside him, his blue eyes never leaving Walter. Dean could feel the distress coming off Cas in waves.

“Just let him go, Dean.” Cas said quietly. “It’s not worth it.”

Dean looked at Cas incredulously, hardly daring believe his ears. But then Cas shot him a look – just a split second flicker of blue – that told Dean _trust me._  

Swallowing, Dean slowly raised his hands, palms out. “All right.” He said reluctantly. “But you know you got a warrant out, right? You wont’ have him for long.”

“Yeah, we’ll see.” Walter bit back carelessly. Shifting slowly, Dean moved and looked over at Michael. He looked at him hard, trying to convey with his eyes _it’s okay._ Michael swallowed and gave a tiny, barely noticeable nod.

Sarah was white as a sheet as Michael stepped out from behind Dean. When he got to his father, Walter reached out with his other hand and roughly grabbed a fistful of Michael’s hair. Michael gave a half-cry, half-growl and squirmed, but his dad held him fast.

“You didn’t think you could just abandon this family, did you, boy?” Walter growled at him. Michael didn’t answer or meet his father’s hard gaze, and Walter moved his arm to wrap around Michael’s neck, crushing the boy to his side.

Gun still pointed at Dean, Walter began to back away. Nobody moved.

The pair had just stepped out onto the street when there was an audible _click_ in the night air, and Uriel stepped from the shadows. He pointed his metallic Glock directly at Walter’s temple.

“Now, now.” Uriel purred. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

Ion stood calmly behind Uriel, his hands clasped behind his back. He kept his eyes trained on Cas and Dean. Dean felt fear and adrenaline shoot through his limbs, making them stiff and heavy.

“Uriel,” Castiel started, his voice lower and gruffer than Dean had ever heard it.

“Drop the gun.” Uriel spoke over Cas. He didn’t take his eyes from Walter. “And release the boy. Now.”

Walter couldn’t see who was behind him, but he could surely feel the cool tip of the gun against his temple. Swallowing, he raised his arms. Michael darted from them, moving behind Dean and to Sarah’s side. Walter clicked the safety back on his gun and dropped it to the ground.

“What do you know?” Uriel placed his foot on top of Walter’s gun. “It can be _taught.”_

He thrust his foot back, sending the gun skidding backwards. Ion bent and picked it up then proceeded to disarm it.

“You must recognize my voice, Walter.” Uriel said.

“I paid you bastards back.” Walter spluttered. “Every penny.”

“You must be truly stupid,” Uriel spit out, and Walter’s already ashen faced whitened further. “To believe we can’t tell the difference between real and counterfeit bills.”

Walter swallowed. Uriel leaned toward him and lowered his voice menacingly.

“A very grave mistake. But as much I’d like to be the one to spray your brains across the asphalt, I’m afraid that’s no longer my responsibility.”

Uriel’s eyes flicked up to Dean’s. Dean swallowed.

“No.” Cas growled, making that single syllable sound menacing and cold. Dean shivered.

“I wasn’t aware I’d made any sort of _request.”_ Uriel bit back. Dean winced a little, but Castiel didn’t so much as blink. He stepped to move in front of Dean.

With a quick jerk of his chin, Uriel signaled to Ion and Ion moved quickly. He whipped his own handgun out of his jacket and held it to the back of Cas’s head.

Dean felt as if a bucket of ice water was poured down his body. Blood pounded in his ears. He looked at Cas, who’s jaw jumped once he felt the blunt end of the gun pressing into his dark hair. His blue eyes locked with Dean’s, and for a second they just stared at each other, fear and distress vibrating in the air between them. Sarah and Michael stood frozen in terror.

Where the hell had Sam gone?

“Go on, Dean.” Uriel released Walter and shoved him forward a few steps. They all stood on the side of the street, illuminated by the sickly light of the streetlamps. No one seemed to be around. “It’s time to finish what your father started.”

Uriel kicked, hard, at the back of Walter’s legs. They gave out and he crumpled to his knees with a grunt.

“Stay there.” Uriel spit at him. He looked up at Dean. “Well? Go on. I know you’ve been carrying around that shiny piece of yours for at least a week now. Shoot him, or we shoot Cas.”

Dean swallowed. Cas looked at him, but Dean made himself look away. His heart was hammering, impossibly loud, and he forced his hands to steady as he reached beneath his jacket and to the gun tucked in his pants.

The cool handle felt familiar against his palm. He closed his eyes, telling himself firmly he had _no other choice,_ before raising the gun and aiming it at Walter’s head.

He removed the safety.

“Dean,” Sarah whispered, a plea, and Dean’s jaw tensed. Michael didn’t utter a sound but Dean was aware of the boy’s eyes on him. He looked up at Cas. Cas’s blue eyes were pleading, frantic, his chest rising with anxious breath as he silently pleaded with Dean to _drop the gun._

He looked at Walter. The man swayed a little, even as he kneeled on the cold asphalt.

Uriel raised his eyebrows.

Dean took a shaky breath. “I can’t. No.”

He loosened his grip on the Beretta and clicked the safety back on, before letting the gun drop to his feet. His next move was to get to Cas, but he didn’t have much time to act on it, because Michael had picked the gun back up, removed the safety and pointed it at his dad.

“Michael!” Sarah gasped, moving to grab the boy, but Dean stopped her lest she set Michael off. Uriel looked pleasantly surprised.

“Michael, what are you doing?” Dean asked levelly, trying to control the panic in his voice. Tears were streaming down Michael’s face, but he pointed the gun at Walter with two shaking hands.

“I should’ve done this a while ago.” Michael growled.

“No, you shouldn’t.” Dean’s voice took on a pleading tone. “ _Think,_ Michael – you don’t want to do this.”

“Yes I do.” Michael grit out. “For years I let him push me around. And he’s not gunna stop. He followed me here. It doesn’t matter – not if I’m at home, or in some shitty group home, or with Sam and Sarah. He’s always gunna try and get to me.”

“Son.” Walter whispered, practically begging, “Please.”

Michael shook his head as another tear streamed down his face. “I can’t. I can’t let you do this to me, or to Asher. I can’t do it anymore.”

“And you don’t have to.” Dean held his arms out in a placating gesture. “Just put the gun down, okay? You don’t want this. Do you want to be a killer? A murderer?”

“He made me one.” Michael’s eyes didn’t stray from his father.

“No, he didn’t.” Dean shook his head. “You’re not a murderer. I know you, man. This isn’t you. Just put the gun down. Please.”

Michael held the gun for a few more tense seconds, his finger hovering over the trigger, before he slowly lowered it.

“Thatta boy.” Dean breathed with relief.

Uriel’s face fell. “How disappointing. It seems I have to do all the dirty work myself.”

Uriel turned to Walter again, and then everything happened very quickly. Uriel clicked the safety off his gun and squeezed the trigger. Walter twisted where he kneeled beneath him, reaching out to knock Uriel’s arm aside at the last minute. He brought a rather pathetic switchblade out from the depths of his jacket and slashed a thick line up Uriel’s thigh. Uriel fell with a strangled noise. Ion dropped the gun from Cas’s skull and pointed it at Walter, fired once.

Walter slumped to the ground. Ion turned to Castiel and Sam leapt from the shadows, securing his long arms around Ion’s neck. Cas moved fast, moving deftly with his hands to twist Ion’s hand in his. Dean heard Ion’s wrist snap and then Cas had his gun.

“Dad!” Michael yelled, but Sarah held him back.

“Not a muscle.” Cas growled, turning the gun on Ion. Ion stopped moving, his face white and his eyes wide.

Dean just stood, numb and dumbfounded. Uriel was twitching feebly on the ground, but the pool of blood spreading around him was far too large. Walter was motionless.

xXx

There was a war in Cas’s gut as he felt the cool handle of Ion’s gun in his palm. It felt so familiar it was almost comforting. The rush of power he felt, pointing it at the spot between Ion’s eyes – he trusted the hit man could remember what a good shot he was – was something he didn’t allow himself to feel often, because in a way, he _liked_ it.

But he couldn’t think about that now.

He looked at Ion’s face, at his dark and sharp eyes, his neatly trimmed beard. He and Ion used to be somewhat close, before. He could remember discussing literature with the man while they cleaned guns, or sitting in companionable silence as they drove in one of the family’s black town cars on the way to a job.

Castiel had never believed in violence. 

“Ion.” He said, his voice softer and pleading now. “You and I… we always got along, before. I know how fond you are of Gabriel. And you know how Gabriel would feel if he found out you killed me.”

Ion swallowed, his hands braced against where Sam’s arm held him. His eyes softened just a little as he looked at Cas.

“Please, let us go.” Cas’s heart was hammering in his chest. He was acutely aware of Dean standing behind him, a sturdy wall between Ion and the huddled figures of Sarah and Michael. “You gain nothing by bringing me back home, or killing us. Walter Paul is dead, just as my father wished, and you will report that Dean killed him, so his debt is square. Uriel is merely collateral damage. You would lose nothing by doing this – in fact, you’d most likely be Uriel’s replacement.”

Ion looked over at Uriel’s now-still form. Gears shifted behind his dark eyes.

“Please.” Castiel said softly, but firmly. Everybody was frozen, just watching and holding their breath. Cas thought of how he must look: a relatively harmless man in jeans and a pea coat, but with stormy blue eyes and tensed jaw, his hand steady and sure where he held the gun pointed at Ion’s head.

Despite Castiel’s reluctance to kill, one of the main reasons his father had used his son as a muscleman was because he could _seem_ like a killer. His sharp blue eyes were unsettling, even more so when cold and laced with threat, and his low voice could rumble and get under your skin. When Castiel felt adrenaline sharp in his blood, and he had a gun in his hand, he practically emanating danger. It was in the tilt of his chin and the calmness of his expression; he was _scary,_ and it kept most of Chicago’s thugs from trying to cross him.

Cas knew it; his family knew it. They’d wanted to nurture that side of Castiel, which is why the man had spent years stomping it down. But now, he let it come back out full force, trying not to worry about what Dean thought about this very threatening display of dominance.

“All right.” Ion said finally, barely a whisper. “All right, Castiel. But this is the one and only time I grant you this favour.” 

“Fine.” Cas’s voice took on a hard edge, now. He stepped toward Ion. “But you should know that I’ll be here. I don’t intend on leaving, so from here on out, Lawrence is safe ground. Understood?”

Ion thought for a moment, then nodded stiffly.

Castiel signaled to Sam and Sam reluctantly loosened his grip. Ion stepped away, rubbing at his neck a little. Castiel emptied Ion’s gun of bullets.

“Now leave.” Cas growled and shoved the gun at him. “And don’t come back.”

Ion took the gun, gave Cas, Dean and Sam a hard look, before turning and hurrying back to the black sedan. The lights blinked on and then it peeled off down the street.

xXx

The small apartment block was chaos. The siding of every previously quiet house was lit up with the red and blue of police lights; yellow tape surrounded the few yards of street outside of Sam’s house. The block was littered with news vans and cop cars. Sam’s neighbors stood on their front lawns, clad in pajamas and bathrobes and slippers.

Every once in a while, a camera would flash. Uriel and Walter lay where they fell, covered in white sheets and marked with numbers. Cops milled around, looking, talking, writing things down on notepads.

Dean felt numb with shock. He leaned against the back bumper of the Impala, and Cas was beside him but he wouldn’t look at Dean. Dean was afraid that he’d broken something between him and Cas, the moment he raised the gun to Walter’s head. Maybe Cas had finally realized that Dean wasn’t as kind and good as he’d previously thought.

Sheriff Jody Mills – a no-nonsense yet kind woman with short brown hair – walked up to the two. She’d already gotten fingerprints and witness statements from all five of them, and each retold the same story: Michael came looking for Sam, Walter had been following Michael. Uriel and Ion came for Walter, and the three hand a stand-off, which resulted in Uriel and Walter’s deaths. The five of them were merely bystanders.

Everything checked out. Walter was still holding the knife that had sliced through Uriel’s femoral artery, and the bullet in Walter’s back didn’t match Uriel’s Glock or Dean’s Beretta, but the gun that Ion had fled with.

In the end, it was all chalked up to gang violence. The police took a detailed description of Ion and the black sedan, though they were skeptical they would track him down before hitting Chicago, where any number of crooked cops were waiting to protect him.

“How’re you two holding up?” Jody asked, in that easy familiar way she had. Dean looked up at the woman but Cas just stared ahead, his gaze taking in nothing.

“Well, nobody else got hurt.” Dean said tonelessly. “That’s what counts, right?”

Jody gave a tight smile. “Look,” She said, lowering her voice to take on a sympathetic quality, “What you saw tonight was pretty damn hard to witness. But I want you to know you did the right thing, not getting involved. Who knows what might have happened otherwise."

Dean swallowed and nodded mutely. Jody’s gaze flickered between the two of them, before she let out a short breath. She looked over her shoulder, where Sarah sat huddled beside Michael. His face was stony and blank. Sam stood guard over the two like a sentinel as he talked with a police officer.

“Kid’s pretty shaken up.” Jody said, turning back to Dean and Cas. “In his condition, CPS wouldn’t dream of throwing him back in a group home. I put a rush in for that background check. If things are clear I’d say Michael isn’t going anywhere.”

Dean raised his eyebrows, slightly skeptical. “Really? That fast?”

“Situations like these are bound to reap exceptions.” Jody said. “And plus, well, look at the kid.”

Jody looked over her shoulder again, and Dean and Cas followed her gaze now. Michael was pressed tightly to Sarah’s side. One of Sarah’s quilts was wrapped around him and he laid his cheek on Sarah’s shoulder. Tears streamed silently down his cheeks, but he looked calmer now; resigned, maybe, but somehow okay.

“I think it’s safe to say he’s in good hands.” Jody said quietly, before turning back to Dean and Cas.

“What about Asher?” Dean asked.

“CPS will move him over from his other foster family. No use waiting until the morning.”

Dean nodded.

“You two look beat.” Jody’s dark eyebrows drew together. “Why don’t you go on home?”

Now, Cas frowned a little in confusion. “You don’t… need us for anything else?”

Jody thought for a moment. “I don’t think so. We got your statements and fingerprints. Story checks out. If we need anything else, we’ll call you. Just don’t leave the state or anything.”

“Yes ma’am.” Dean said, and Jody smiled at him before moving off to the other police officers.

Dean looked over at Cas, who was still staring listlessly at the ground. He reached out and purposefully wound their fingers together. Cas seemed to drag himself out of his thoughts, and he looked up at Dean.

“Let’s go home.” Dean said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this about wraps up the Michael and Uriel storylines, but I've still got a few more things I want to write! The remaining chapters will be indulgent fluff, and are more timestamp-ish in style until I get the boys where I feel okay with leaving them. Thank you everyone for reading this far!! You're the best.


	26. Burning Boxes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for your beautiful comments! 
> 
> Just a quick word about John in this fic, seeing as how I'm wrapping up that storyline: I'm obviously not a fan of John Winchester. For this story I took Dean's line of "And when Dad came home..." from Dark Side Of The Moon and just ran with it. I don't think that John was as blatantly abusive as I made him here. I've actually read lots of fic where John is a moderately supportive/healthy parent, and I enjoy reading that side of him. I might do the same in future fics of my own. 
> 
> I just felt the need to clarify that, in case there were any John fans out there in my readership.
> 
> Also, this chapter has bottom!Cas in it?? (I did not plan this it just happened) so I'll add it to the tags. Just thought I'd give a disclaimer in case any of you don't like bottom!Cas.

Castiel didn’t dare say a word the entire ride home. The dashboard clock said it was only a little past midnight, but Cas felt as if he’d been awake for days. His body ached, unused to the rush of adrenaline and fear that had pumped through his system.

Cas could barely stand to think about it. That power he’d felt rushing through him, the danger he knew he exuded; the chilling yet exhilarating feeling of having someone on the other end of a gun. And he was certain, now, that Dean had seen it and hated it. Because the man was practically tip-toeing around Cas, speaking softly as if not to set him off, never looking him directly in the eye. 

 _Fuck._ He’d been so close, but now, Castiel’s past had once again managed to screw him over.

The apartment was dark when they walked in, seeing as how they’d neglected to leave any lights on. They’d also neglected to put Lola back in her crate, because she was sprawled happily on the kitchen floor, her entire body wrapped in feet upon feet of toilet paper.

Dean groaned.

“Really, Lola?” He asked her. “This is what I have to come home too?”

Lola thumped her tail in pride. Wordlessly, Cas bent down and helped Dean gather up the toilet paper. He could feel Dean glancing at him, but Cas hardly dared lift his eyes.

While Dean took Lola out for a bathroom break, Cas couldn’t do much else besides take off his jacket, slump down on the couch and let his face fall into his hands.

He didn’t look up when he heard the front door open and close again, and Lola trotted through the apartment. He didn’t stir when Dean ambled into the living room and sat down quietly beside him, and he didn’t react when he said softly,

“Cas.”

A few seconds passed. Dean reached up and gently pried Cas’s hands away from his face.

“Cas,” He said again, and Cas made himself look up into moss-green eyes. “Talk to me, babe. You haven’t said anything since…”

Dean trailed off but he didn’t tear his eyes away. Cas’s stomach melted pathetically, reacting to the pet name that so rarely passed Dean’s lips.  

“I never wanted you to see that side of me.” Cas said quietly, bitterly. “I always said I hated doing my family’s work, but that doesn’t mean I wasn’t good at it. Because I was good at it, and part of me was proud of that. I usually keep that part locked up if I can help it.”

Cas ducked his head. Shame rolled, hot and distinct, in his stomach.

Dean frowned. He turned to face Cas on the couch. “Wait. You think… do you think I’m mad about what you did tonight?”

Cas tilted his head. “Mad. Scared. Disappointed. Whichever.”

Dean shook his head and took one of Cas’s hands in his own. It was curled into a fist but Dean patiently worked his fingers beneath Cas’s grip, forcing the muscles to relax.

“I’m not gunna lie, Cas, tonight you looked pretty freakin’ scary.” He said, and Cas closed his eyes. “I swear I’ve never seen anyone in a pea coat look so badass. It was awesome.”

Cas looked up sharply. “Awesome?”

Dean nodded. “Yeah. Cas if it weren’t for you, our asses would be grass; Uriel dead or not. You fucking _saved_ us, man. Why the hell would I be mad or disappointed by that?”

Cas let out a shaky breath, his brows drawing together as he took in Dean’s sincere face. “So you’re not… I mean, you still…”

Cas couldn’t say it, so he just gestured between himself and Dean. To his surprise, Dean let out a barking laugh, before looking at Cas with adoration. It made Cas’s heart stutter.

“Do I still want you?” He asked incredulously, and Cas nodded. Dean answered by leaning forward and capturing Cas’s lips in a soft, reassuring kiss. “Of course I do, you freaky, badass dork. I mean, you can be scary when you have to be, but that’s not who you are.”

Cas gave a shaky breath and leaned his forehead against Dean’s. He let himself breathe, then, and as he did, a timid relief settled over him.

“Shit, we actually did it.” Dean whispered, voicing Cas’s thoughts. “Michael and Asher… Uriel…”

Cas pulled back to find his own emotions reflected in Dean’s eyes.

“It’s over now.” Cas said, and Dean closed his eyes. He wrapped his hand around the back of Cas’s neck to pull him into a hot, searing kiss.

It wasn’t long before they were in Dean’s bed, clothes discarded and strewn on the floor. The entire night had left Cas shaky and exposed, and he felt vulnerable somehow, so he was happy to let Dean take control. The man was braced above him on strong arms, hips dipping down to slide their erections together as he kissed Cas senseless.

Cas was already a mess, moaning a little into Dean’s mouth as he arched his hips up off the bed. The smell of Dean was surrounding him, flooding his senses, and he let himself get lost in it; let Dean kiss and touch away the fear and anxiety until all he was aware of was _them_ ; how they moved and breathed with one another.

Cas bit Dean’s bottom lip, and Dean gave a low growl, his fingers digging into the skin of Cas’s hip. He shifted and maneuvered his own hips until Cas’s legs were hooked up around his waste.

“Cas,” Dean breathed, sounding completely wrecked as he mouthed along Cas’s neck, “Can I…”

He trailed off, too embarrassed to voice what he wanted out loud. But Cas knew. He knew, and God, he wanted it too; wanted to feel Dean inside him, taking what Cas so willingly had to offer, marking up his body until Cas couldn’t remember anyone else ever touching him before.

Dean pulled back to look at Cas, green eyes hesitant but dark with want, and Cas nodded feverishly. “ _Please_.”

They’d never done this before. Though Dean had never said as much out loud, Cas knew that Dean liked to bottom, which worked out well because Cas liked to top. But there was this desperate _need_ inside of him right now; the need to let Dean take care of him, mark him up and cherish him; make his body feel spent and lose and sated. He almost whined with how much he wanted it, and by the way that Dean kissed him again, he knew that Dean wanted it just as bad.

Dean shifted away and retrieved the bottle of lube and a condom from his bedside table. He squeezed some lube on his fingers, hissing a little at the cold liquid, before settling in beside Cas. They were lying on their sides now, facing each other, and with his free hand Dean hooked one of Cas’s legs up on his hip.

“Are you sure?” Dean whispered roughly, just to be certain, as he moved his hand down between Cas’s legs. Cas’s heart was hammering in his chest. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d bottomed – it had been years, at least – but he trusted Dean.

He nodded, never taking his eyes from those green ones before gripping Dean’s hip gently with one hand. “I’m sure.”

Dean leaned forward and brushed his lips against his. Cas’s heart trilled and he followed the sensation, though Dean pulled back just a little at the last second. Cas could feel Dean’s fingers, slick and a little cold with lube, lightly teasing around his hole. His breath stuttered a little, and he was about to admonish Dean for teasing when Dean pushed a single finger in smoothly.

Cas’s mouth dropped open with a happy sigh, and then Dean kissed him, swallowing up the noise as he pushed his finger in past the second knuckle. Cas felt himself squeeze around Dean, sending tiny firecrackers of pleasure up his spine, and he whimpered.

Dean’s prep was achingly slow and gentle, his mouth hovering just inches from Cas’s as Cas breathed and moaned with each drag of his fingers. Cas had been careful with Dean at first, but over time they’d gotten braver with each other. He’d discovered that, when in the right mindset, Dean _loved_ rough and dirty sex.

Now, though, Cas was surprised at how tender Dean was as a top. And he could tell it wasn’t just for Cas’s benefit. Dean’s cock was heavy and throbbing, leaking pre-come against his stomach, and his chest was falling rapidly, his pulse quickening with each noise that escaped Cas’s mouth. His pupils were blown wide with lust but his movements never roughened, no matter how much Cas asked for it.

And that’s when Cas realized that Dean _loved_ the slow-build he was giving Cas; he got off on watching him come undone gradually, knowing that he was taking his time to find each of Cas’s buttons and sweet spots. And fuck, that made it even hotter.

Dean was fucking into him slowly with three fingers, parted lips just inches from Cas’s, when Cas finally felt his resolve snap.

“Dean,” He almost sobbed, his body shaking with overstimulation and need, “If you don’t fuck me right now, I _will_ shoot you.”

Dean chuckled, but he brought his fingers out of Cas slowly, dragging a low whine out of the man. He reached for where the condom laid on the bed and threw it to Cas, who opened it impatiently with his teeth.

Dean settled back into place, and Cas held his green eyes hungrily as he reached down and rolled the condom on. Dean’s skin was flushed with arousal, from his neck down to his chest, and once the condom was on he sat up, pulling Cas with him.

Cas was a little confused at first, but Dean deftly maneuvered him onto his lap and Cas got with the program quickly; he straddled Dean’s waist and held himself, poised above Dean’s cock. Dean’s hands were splayed across his back and Cas wrapped his hands around Dean’s neck, looking down into Dean’s eyes as he slowly sank down.

Cas always loved to watch Dean when they had sex, and the view right then was fucking _amazing._ Dean’s eyes fluttered shut and his mouth dropped open, a breathy gasp escaping his lips as Cas’s heat slowly enveloped him. Cas forced his eyes to stay open, to watch even as he felt Dean slowly splitting him, an exquisite burn that he could feel pooling in his stomach and racing through his veins. It only hurt a little, and underneath that pain was such an amazing pleasure that Cas felt tears pricking at the corners of his eyes.

When he finally bottomed out, Cas let out a low, filthy groan, his hands tightening in Dean’s hair. He crushed his lips to his in a wet, needy kiss, before he slowly lifted himself almost completely off Dean and slid down again, relishing the slow drag of it. 

The moan that ripped from Dean was low and hungry, vibrating against Cas’s lips, and his fingers dug deeper into the skin of his back. He opened his eyes and they immediately locked gazes as Cas slowly fucked himself down onto him.

They picked up a natural rhythm easily; Dean pushing up into Cas and Cas meeting him readily, their hips and backs arching and undulating together. Soon, their moans and whimpers and quiet words of love filled the room.

Cas’s thighs began to burn and shake, but he hardly gave them a second thought, too lost in the feeling of Dean throbbing so beautifully inside of him. His body opened readily, hungrily for Dean, as if he’d been made for this man and this man only.

Dean stalled in his movements and wrapped a strong arm around Cas’s waist, fixing him in place as he lowered Cas back down on the bed. The burn in his thighs eased and Cas sighed in relief, letting his head fall back on the pillow as Dean sucked at his neck, his hips thrusting into him deeply.

Cas had never been overly vocal during sex – Dean made enough noise for the both of them, usually – but he suddenly didn’t care about the sounds falling from his mouth. He moaned and gasped at each thrust, whimpered at the slow withdrawals, babbled nonsense into Dean’s ear which he was sure was a mixture of _more_ and _deeper_ and _I love you._

Time was a loose concept; Cas felt like he could come at any minute, and yet like he could go on like this for hours, more than eager to let Dean completely use his body until his bones had turned limp and useless.

Dean suddenly stopped and shifted, hooking his arms beneath Cas’s legs and lifting them so Cas’s ankles were over Dean’s shoulders. The new angle left Cas incredibly exposed and vulnerable, but Cas wasn’t scared. His hands were splayed across Dean’s back, his breath heaving as he looked up at the man above him. Dean’s green eyes had the most predatory glint to them; like he wasn’t sure whether he wanted to kill for Cas or eat him alive.

Cas leaned up, desperate to feel the press of Dean’s lips, but Dean just backed away again while keeping their mouths mere inches apart. He watched Cas’s face as he slowly sank back down into him in one smooth thrust, the new angle making white spots erupt in Cas’s vision as Dean’s cock brushed past his prostate.

Cas whined, now, his head thrown back into the pillow and fingers scratching at Dean’s back. Dean dipped his head down, nibbling and sucking at Cas’s neck as he began to thrust slow and deep, hitting Cas’s sweet spot each time.

Cas was a mess; this was too much, it was an overload of sensation and emotion and he clung to Dean so he didn’t drown in it. Each thrust sparked through him, eliciting moans and whimpers that would normally make him turn red, and he didn’t know how much longer he was going to last.

Apparently, Dean wasn’t far from the edge, either. He moved faster, harder into Cas, until the headboard began to knock against the wall. Even as he pounded into him, Dean brought a hand beneath one of Cas’s knees and lifted his leg higher, driving in deeper, making Cas cry out all over again. Cas reached his hands up and scratched steadily along Dean’s back, and Dean growled at the sensation but didn’t tell him to stop.

Cas’s moans turned to short, bitten-off gasps, and his muscles tensed. He squeezed his eyes shut and his entire body locked up, muscles going rigid beneath Dean for a single second before his orgasm hit him full force. His mouth dropped open in a silent scream and he felt hot come spilling up his stomach and chest, white-hot pleasure rolling over him in waves.

Dean came almost right after, coming completely undone at the feeling of Cas’s body squeezing around him. He fucked Cas through his orgasm and gasped into his neck, his teeth biting down on the skin between his throat and shoulder.

After they stilled, they took a few moments to catch their breath. Even though he was trembling, Cas’s body felt wonderfully tired and warm and loose, all the anxieties and fears of the past week already forgotten.

Slowly, Dean emerged from Cas’s neck and looked down at him. His freckled face was flushed and his eyes were bright. Cas could see his hair sticking up in the places where he’d tugged at it.

“You’re fucking amazing.” Dean breathed, and Cas couldn’t help but smile.

“You’re not so bad yourself.” He said weakly, before giving Dean a slow, soft kiss. He reached up and lightly cupped Dean’s face with a quivering hand, his thumb stroking across the skin.

“You’re shaking.” Dean pulled away and took Cas’s hand in his own. He frowned down at Cas, eyes slightly worried. But Cas couldn’t describe how loved, how _perfect_ he felt in that moment. Sure, the onslaught of emotion and sensation was making him shake, but it was a good kind of shake.

“It’s okay.” Cas said softly, sincerely. “I’m okay.”

Dean looked at him a moment, but he couldn’t argue with the honest, open look on Cas’s face. He nodded and gave him another soft kiss before murmuring, “I’m gunna clean us up.”

Cas leaned back and let exhaustion wash over him as Dean climbed off the bed. Dean tied-off and threw away the condom, before getting a damp cloth from the bathroom and cleaning up Cas. He took his time, wiping the cloth gently over Cas’s stomach and chest, and then getting the leftover lube from between his thighs. Then he crawled back into bed, pulling the covers up over them both.

Dean immediately snuggled in close to him. For a while, he had tried to insist he wasn’t into cuddling after sex. But then Cas’s attempts at giving him space had resulted in Dean grudgingly shifting closer to him afterward anyway, mumbling bullshit about being cold, until Cas had finally called him out.

Now, Dean crawled on top of him readily, laying his head on Cas’s chest and settling between his legs. Cas’s arms were spread out at his side, and Dean reached out and interlaced his fingers with his. Cas felt his heart warm and swell, so full of love he thought it would burst.

“I was thinking,” Dean started quietly.

“Never a good sign.” Cas mumbled, eyes still closed as he enjoyed the hum of post-orgasmic haziness.

“You’re hilarious.” Dean retorted, but Cas could hear the smile in his voice. “I was thinking about your stuff that’s still here. You don’t have much.”

Cas’s eyes opened now. He looked at the ceiling as he answered carefully, “It never made sense to acquire too many belongings, what with the lifestyle I previously had.”

He could practically hear Dean think these words over. “Right.” He said. “So what if… I mean, since it’s not that much stuff anyways… what if you unpacked here? And then, like… stayed?”

Cas immediately stiffened, a fierce hope rising up in his chest. He looked down at Dean. “Are you asking me to move in with you?”

Dean lifted his head and rested his chin on Cas’s chest. “Maybe? I mean, if you want to… it’s okay if you don’t, I just thought-”

Dean’s rambling was cut off when Cas pulled him up and pressed an exultant kiss to his lips. “Yes, of course I will.” He said against them, not bearing to be any farther apart. Dean smiled and kissed him deeper.

That night, they slept soundly, for what felt like the first time in years.

xXx

Dean was violently yanked from sleep, sometime around seven the next morning, when his cell phone started ringing. The opening riff to Journey’s “Separate Ways” blasted through the previously peaceful and quiet room, and his eyes snapped open, his mind stumbling as it tried to keep up.

He was lying on his stomach, face nestled into the crook of Cas’s arm. One of his own arms was thrown across Cas’s torso, who was lying on his back beside him. Cas groaned sleepily.

“Make it stop.” He whined. Dean blearily pushed himself up on his elbows and scowled at his phone, which was still ringing and vibrating on his bedside table. He picked it up and squinted at the painfully bright screen.

The caller I.D. read _Sammy._

Yawning, he swiped the screen to answer.

“’Lo?” He rasped out, moving back to his previous position. He nestled his face below Cas’s armpit, soaking up his warmth.

“Rise and shine, cupcake.” Sam’s voice broke through the line and Dean winced.

“Why the hell are you calling me so early?” He demanded groggily.

“We need to talk.”

“ _Later_.” Dean whined, burrowing further into Cas. Cas groaned in complaint and half-heartedly pushed him away, muttering something about Dean being loud. Dean tightened his arm around him.

“I’d like some answers, Dean.” Sam went on, his bitch-face evident in his tone. “We gave our statements to the cops, but now you need to let me know what the hell is going on. Who were those guys? Why did they try to make you kill Walter?”

“Sam,” Dean’s voice was muffled as he kept his face buried in Cas’s skin, “It’s early. It’s _Saturday._ This can wait.”

“No, it can’t. Mom already saw us on the news and she’s freaking out, nevermind how shaken up Sarah is.” Sam replied. Dean gave a long-suffering sigh.

“Fine.” He grumbled. “We’ll talk later today, okay?”

“No, Dean, _now.”_ Sam reiterated.

“All right, all right.” Dean scowled. “Just… give us a few to wake up and grab some coffee. Then we’ll be over.”

“Okay. Good.” Sam said, sounding a little proud of himself for laying down the law. Dean rolled his eyes and hung up, before tossing his phone onto the bed.

“Are we in trouble?” Cas asked sleepily, his eyes still closed.

“We have to go ‘explain ourselves.’” Dean said. He turned, curling his body into Cas and pulling him in tighter. Dean’s eyes had fallen closed again, and he could feel tendrils of sleep curling around his mind when Cas asked quietly,

“Are they going to hate me now?”

Dean blinked and looked up at Cas. “Of course not. Why would you think that?”

Cas shrugged, glancing at Dean with sleep-wrinkled eyes. “It was my family.”

Dean’s jaw bunched, and he laid his head back down across Cas’s ribs. His one hand was resting on Cas’s stomach, and he stroked his skin idly with his thumb. “What happened was my dad’s fault. Not yours.”

Cas thought about this for a second. Then he said, “Okay.”

xXx

Dean had never been part of an intervention in his entire life – nevermind how much his father might have needed one. But as he sat on the couch at Sam and Sarah’s two hours later, he had the distinct thought _this feels like an intervention._

He’d told them everything about John’s debt and Uriel’s proposed deal. Mary was strangely quiet through the whole thing, staring down into a mug of coffee and looking more tired than she had in years. The house was quiet; Michael and Asher were upstairs sleeping and the morning was still early.

Mary’s voice was soft but firm when she finally spoke.

“Dean, this has to stop.”

Dean looked up at her. “What has to stop?”

“This… _obligation_ you feel toward your father. Even after everything he did. It’s not healthy.”

Dean dropped his eyes and swallowed, but didn’t say anything. Cas reached over and took his hand.

“I know you’ve gotten better.” Mary went on. “But from now on, no more hiding things from me when it comes to your father. He’s gone now, you don’t need to protect him anymore.”

“I wasn’t protecting him – I was protecting _you._ And Sam. I didn’t want you guys to see him the way I did.”

“Dean, we always knew dad was an asshole.” Sam put in. “The only thing you stopped was us being able to help you.”

Mary leaned forward on the couch, her warm hazel eyes intent on Dean’s face. “And as much as we’d like to, we can’t change what happened. John’s gone, honey. There are no more debts; no more loose ends. It’s time to let go.”

Dean’s throat felt tight. He forced himself to look up at his mom, then at Sam and Sarah, then at Cas. And Dean suddenly realized that they didn’t pity him or think he was weak. When he looked at their faces, all he saw was love.

Gently, Cas squeezed his hand.

Dean nodded. “Yeah. Okay.”

He and Cas only stayed for a little while longer, until Mary was convinced neither of her sons were going to go into shock over the night’s events.

Michael had woken up and ventured downstairs, and Dean watched in quiet, shaky happiness as Sam made him breakfast. They talked about turning Sam's office into Michael’s bedroom.

After Dean and Cas said their goodbyes and walked down the driveway toward the Impala, Dean heard the front door open and close again.

“Mr. Winchester!” Michael called, pulling on his jacket. “Wait up.”

Dean looked over his shoulder at the boy. Cas released Dean’s hand.

“I’ll wait in the car.” He said quietly, giving Dean a reassuring smile. He went ahead and Dean waited as Michael jogged up to him. The day was cool and the boy’s breath rose a little in the air.

“I just wanted to say,” He said, sticking his hands in his jacket pockets, “Thanks. For everything. I mean, this isn’t how I thought things would happen, but… maybe it’s what had to happen.”

Dean nodded soberly as he looked at Michael. The boy was a little pale, and there were slight shadows under his eyes, but other than that he looked surprisingly stable. “How’re you holding up?”

Michael glanced down and shrugged. “They’re making me talk to a shrink. About what happened.”

“That’s probably smart.” Dean said. “What you saw… that can’t have been easy. And therapy isn’t all that bad. Trust me.”

Michael looked up at him. “Yeah?”

Dean nodded and gave a small, sad smile. “Yeah. I’m sorry things went that way with your dad. But I hope you’ll be happy here. Sam and Sarah are good people, they’ll treat you guys right.”

Michael looked over his shoulder at the house. The winter wind pulled at his hair a little. “I like them.” He said. “But still, it feels weird. My dad always said you couldn’t pick your family.”

“Of course you can.” Dean said with conviction. He fixed Michael with a serious stare. “Sure, being someone’s blood has meaning, but it’s not everything. The people who love you, who support you and have your back; who keep you safe – _those_ people are your family. You can choose who belongs in your life and who doesn’t, Michael. Don’t ever let anybody tell you different. Understand?”

Michael looked up at Dean, his eyes bright and full of some emotion Dean wasn’t sure how to read. “I understand.”

“Good man.” Dean clapped Michael on the shoulder. “Now go on back inside, you’re going to catch a cold out here.”

Michael gave a small smile at Dean’s fretting, and he turned to leave. “See you, Mr. Winchester.”

Dean smiled and called after him. “You know, when we’re not in school, you can just call me Dean. Mr. Winchester makes me feel old.”

Michael chuckled. “All right. See you, Dean.”

Dean smiled. “Bye, Michael.”

He stood for a moment, watching as Michael jogged up the front steps and went back into the house, before turning and heading for the Impala.

One week later, Dean drove to Mary’s and retrieved all of the old boxes of John’s stuff that he had shoved in the garage in the fall. Some of it he donated to secondhand stores, and he gave a few photos he’d found to his mom. But in the end, he ended up taking most of it down by the river and burning it.


	27. Paper Hearts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LET THE FLUFF BEGIN

Valentine’s Day was _not_ something Dean was looking forward to. For one, it was the two-week anniversary of Charlie and Gilda’s rather unexpected breakup. Charlie had been falling fast, but as it turned out, Gilda had gotten a little too friendly with one of her coworkers at a staff party. And that was that. 

For two, Dean absolutely hated Valentine’s Day. So he hadn’t had his hopes up to begin with.

He’d told Cas he didn’t want to make a big deal of it. Because he didn’t, really; Valentine’s Day was just another made-up holiday, designed to make couples feel guilty and then try to make up for it by spending money. Or to make single people feel like shit. The only bright side, if you _had_ to find one, was that it was an excuse to eat chocolate and candy.

Dean had always felt this way. His attitude had never changed when he’d been dating on Valentine’s Day, so why should it change now?

This was Dean’s mindset. He repeated these sentiments in his head routinely, even as he found himself being strangely sweet with Cas that morning: taking him coffee in bed, kissing and touching him whenever he could, giving him the most amazing fucking blowjob in the shower.

He was just in a good mood. Valentine’s Day had nothing to do with it.

This is exactly what he told Cas when he asked point-blank, his blue eyes skeptical and head tilted to the side.

“But, I _am_ taking you out to dinner after work.” Dean tried to say this like it was no big deal. Cas narrowed his eyes a little, and then a slow smile spread across his face. Dean frowned at him. “Yeah, it’s a dumb holiday, but you can’t really expect me to _not_ take you out. It’s our first Valentine’s Day together. What? Stop looking at me like that.”

Cas pressed his lips together, trying to stifle his adoring smile. But he still leaned forward and brushed his lips against Dean’s.

“You make me happy.” He said simply, as if it were the easiest thing in the world. Dean’s heart skipped.

Despite the rather enjoyable start to the day, Dean’s mood dampened quickly when he walked into his classroom to find Charlie perched at his desk.

He stopped short. She was wearing all black; a black long-sleeved sweater, black skinny jeans, and black converse. Charlie’s complexion had always been fair before, but now her skin looked ashen and deathly.

Dean frowned at her. “What the hell?”

“Valentine’s Day is dead to me.” She said shortly. “I’m in mourning.”

Dean shook his head a little, striding forward and draping his jacket over the back of the chair. “Yeah, well, I’m pretty sure your mourning garb is against school dress code.”

Charlie smirked up at him. “No one likes a tattle-tale, Winchester. And you know that the dress code is exempt on holidays. But sadly, school policy regarding clothing choices is _not_ what I came here to talk to you about.”

“Then what? Make it snappy, I haven’t even looked at my lesson plans for today.” Dean motioned for Charlie to get out of his chair, and she rolled her eyes and obliged.

“As you know, today marks two weeks since my split from She Who Must Not Be Named.” She said officially.

“I know, you marked it in my phone.” Dean grumbled as he turned on his computer.

“And it also, unfortunately, lands on the one day of the year that is _most vicious_ to those who are single and recently single.” She went on. Dean’s eyes narrowed, and he swiveled in his chair to face her.

“Charlie…” He said, voice low and foreboding. Charlie offered a weak smile and asked innocently,

“Wanna hang out tonight?”

“ _No_ , no, absolutely not.” Dean said, shaking his head vehemently. “I have plans with Cas. It’s _Valentine’s Day,_ Charlie, I’m not gunna let you play third wheel!”

“Aha!” Charlie barked so loudly that Dean jumped. She pointed a finger at him. “You DO like Valentine’s Day! I knew it! Deep down, you’re a hopeless romantic, Dean Winchester.”

“I don’t like Valentine’s Day.” Dean hissed at her, shoving her finger away. “I like _Cas._ There’s a difference. Besides, you’re the one who throws a party with her class every damn year.”

“Not this year.” Charlie said resolutely. She crossed her arms. “It’s an anti-Valentine’s party. We’re going to eat health food and listen to Vitamin String Quartet.”

Dean just looked at her. “I’m not cancelling on Cas.”

“I’m not saying don’t go on your date with Cas, just take me with you! I’ll bring a comic, stay in the background, only speak when spoken to. You won’t even notice I’m there!”

“Are you even listening to yourself?” Dean demanded. “That’s the _worst_ idea.”

Now, Charlie’s joking attitude slipped, and Dean could see the sadness underneath. “Come on Dean, please?” She asked, her voice softer now. “I really, _really_ don’t want to be alone on Valentine’s Day.”

Dean pursed his lips and took a breath, regarding Charlie in all her pathetic mourning attire. “I’ll talk to Cas first.” Dean said, even though he knew Cas wouldn’t mind, “But… maybe.”

This seemed like good enough an answer for Charlie. She smiled and gave Dean a hug.

“Thank you.” She said.

“Yeah, yeah.”

xXx 

Classes passed quickly for Dean. With his homeroom students, he had to put up with Student Council members handing out candy grams to the class. His impatience turned to mortification, however, when he himself received a pink card attached to a giant chocolate heart. On the card, his name was written in Cas’s neat scrawl.

His class had whooped and wolf-whistled, and Dean felt himself blush furiously from head to toe.

He would have been really mad, except he knew that Cas was suffering the exact same fate next door.

At lunch, they sat in the cafeteria with Charlie and Benny, swapping stories about the candy grams and passing around chocolate. The staff lounge was filled with horrible pink and red décor, from paper hearts to cupid cut-outs. But Dean found he wasn’t cursing it nearly as much this year.

It was during the break between his fourth and fifth periods that Dean got an idea. Charlie would be awkward at best as a third wheel, but make it into a _double date,_ and that, he could manage.

Praying that luck was on his side, Dean pulled out his phone and scrolled to one of his lesser-used contacts.

The line picked up after the third ring.

“Dean?”

“Jo. Hey.”

“Hey!” She replied, and Dean could almost see that dimpled smile in her voice, “Jesus, long time no talk.”

“Yeah, I know.” Dean said, somewhat guiltily. “I think the last time I saw you was…”

“John’s funeral.” Jo finished soberly. “How are you doing?”

“Better, actually.” Dean said, and he could hear it in his voice now, how good those words sounded. “A lot better. Sorry I sort of fell off the map, I just…”

“I know.” Jo said. “It’s okay.”

Dean gave a short, releasing breath. “Okay. Cool. Listen, uh… I need a favour. I mean, on the very _unlikely_ chance that you don’t have plans tonight.”

“Oh.” Jo sounded like whatever she’d been expecting, it hadn’t been that. “Actually, I kept blowing off plans because I was supposed to work tonight. But they decided to fire me instead, so looks like I’m a free agent.”

“Oh.” Dean replied, in much the same tone. “Well, their loss my gain, I guess. Listen, so I got a friend who just went through a breakup...”

“Ouch. How bad?”

“Nothing too nasty, they hadn’t been serious, but I think she sort of had her hopes up. Anyway, I can’t leave the poor kid alone on Valentine’s, but I don’t think being a third wheel will help, either. So how about… being a sport and filling in on a double date? Take one for the team?”

Jo almost laughed. “Jesus, Winchester, when you call in for a favour, you mean a _favour_. What are we talking about here? Sobbing mess or plotting revenge?”

Dean thought. “Neither? She’s in the life-sucks-and-love-is-a-lie phase.”

“Oh.” Jo seemed to brighten. “Those ones are easy. Just give ‘em alcohol and they perk right up.”

“Hey, I’m not bringing you on board to liquor Charlie up and seduce her.”

“Charlie? Cute.”

“Hey, I mean it.” Dean said sternly. “She needs a distraction, that’s all. If you come along, you have to behave.”

“Fine, _fine,_ Scout’s honour.” She said, and Dean could imagine her doing the salute. “So, double date? Who’re you bringing?”

Dean was taken aback, then. He hadn’t talked to Jo in months but even before that, they’d slowly drifted apart after Jo had dropped out of college. Still, Dean found it strange there could be people in his world who _didn’t_ know about him and Cas.

“Just, uh…” Dean cleared his throat a little. “My boyfriend.”

Jo was absolutely silent. Then, “Holy shit. Seriously?”

“Seriously.” Dean replied, deadpan.

“Well, fuck. And look at me, I thought you were going to keep one foot firmly planted in the closet your whole life.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“Anytime, sweetie. Now what time is our hot date?”

xXx

Castiel had his hand resting on the Impala’s leather seat. It was an unconscious choice, really; he was watching the February drizzle outside of the window, and his hand had simply fallen there, sitting palm-down on the seat between him and Dean.

He didn’t see Dean move his own hand. He just felt it; felt Dean reach out and slowly slide his hand, palm down, beneath his own. The back of his knuckles nudged at Cas’s palm, encouraging Cas’s fingers to settle in the places between his own. Once interlocked, Dean squeezed his fingers just slightly.

Cas’s breath caught in his throat. The gentle warmth from Dean’s hand was spreading all the way up his arm and he looked over, chancing a look at the man in the driver’s seat.

Dean’s other hand was tapping at the steering wheel, keeping in time with the music humming from the stereo. Feeling Cas’s eyes on him, he looked over and smiled.

“What?” He asked curiously. Cas just shook his head, smiled and looked away.

“Nothing.”

Cas’s squeezed his fingers back.

The song on the radio was old and for once, Cas knew it. Actually, he’d always liked this song.

 

_I don’t hardly know her; but I think I can love her_

_Crimson and clover…_

Of course, the pronouns were all wrong. But Cas could pretend.

“So listen,” Dean said after a while. “There’s a slight change in plans tonight.”

“Seeing as how you refused to tell me what those plans exactly _are,_ I hardly think I’ll mind.” Cas replied, though the smile on his face softened the dryness in his voice.

Dean bit his lip a little. “It’s sort of… a double date now. Charlie was busting my balls about leaving her alone on Valentine’s, so I called an old friend to meet up with us and hopefully cheer her up a little.”

“That sounds all right with me.” Cas said, sincerely. “I can’t imagine it would be fun to be recently broken up on this holiday.”

“You mean made-up holiday.” Dean amended. Cas rolled his eyes.

“A made-up holiday _you’re_ celebrating.” He teased.

“All right, touché.”

“So who’s the old friend?” Cas asked curiously, and Dean grinned.

“Her name’s Jo. She was my best friend growing up.”

“Oh.” Cas blinked. “I don’t think you’ve ever talked about her before.”

“We sort of lost touch over the years.” Dean admitted, somewhat sadly. “She dropped out of college and travelled for a while; only came back to Lawrence a few years ago.”

“And you think she’ll be a fitting distraction for Charlie?”

“Well, we’ll find out.”

xXx 

The restaurant that they went to had “Cas” written all over it. It was a place Dean would never have willingly gone into with anyone else.

Okay, so maybe it wasn’t _that bad._ It wasn’t a swanky lounge with stupidly priced martinis, or an uncomfortably dark restaurant with too many forks and a confusing wine list. And it wasn’t a sleazy bar filled with people looking to forget that they were single for one night, which is where Dean would usually spend Valentine’s Day.

It was this little place squished between a bakery and a tattoo joint. It specialized in local-grown food and had a separate menu for vegans (Dean pushed this menu away from himself with obvious mistrust). They served locally brewed craft beer and played what Dean described as “shitty hipster music”.

But Dean had picked this place, because he’d heard that they specialized in making things with the honey from one of the local bee farmers.

If he’d also heard that they had some of the best pies in the state, then that was just a coincidence.

They sat at a wooden table near the back of the restaurant, Dean frowning at a light fixture made from mason jars and Cas inspecting a painting on the wall suspiciously. It was a rather nice ink painting of a bumblebee, and Cas raised his eyebrow at it, before looking at Dean. Dean blinked at him innocently.

They were sitting beside each other, while Jo and Charlie sat on the other side of the table. Dean realized that to anyone else, it probably looked like he was on a date with Jo, while Cas was paired with Charlie. And for once he didn’t like that assumption.

Just to make things clear, he leaned back and casually draped his arm over the back of Cas’s chair.

As it turned out, Charlie wasn’t all that pleased with being unwittingly thrown into a double date. But as always, she was a good sport and went along with it. Of course, she’d brightened right up as soon as Jo had walked into the restaurant wearing an REO Speedwagon t-shirt and a pair of snug, ripped jeans; her wavy blonde hair falling past her shoulders.

Now, she was more than okay with sitting beside Jo, who was moving through a steady routine of flirting with Charlie and demanding to know practically everything about Cas.

“I like you.” Jo said suddenly, pointing at Cas as she picked up her beer. “You’re… different. Sort of an old soul, but in a good way.”

Cas tilted his head. “Thanks?”

“Don’t mind Jo,” Dean put in, “She doesn’t really know how to give compliments.”

“Shut it.” Jo retorted before taking a sip of her beer.

Charlie looked between Dean and Jo with a somewhat jealous expression. At this point, though, Dean wasn’t sure who she was jealous of. “So when exactly did you guys meet?”

“When we were twelve.” Jo supplied. “Dean was getting beat up on the playground one day and I stepped in.”

“Oh, that is _so_ not how it went.” Dean smirked at her, leaning forward a little in his seat. “I had it handled, and you know it. You were just looking for a fight.”

“I was a good kid!”

“You carried around a pocket knife!”

“What was I supposed to do? They confiscated my switchblade.” Jo said indignantly.

“I brought a katana to school once, and they took it away for two weeks.” Charlie said sympathetically. Jo motioned to her in a _you see what I mean_ sort of way.

The evening passed in much the same way. Jo and Dean told stories from when they were younger, like the first time they stole John’s liquor and got drunk, and the time Ellen caught them smoking weed behind the bar, and how Jo had hated Dean’s ex Cassie and made her life a living hell.

All throughout this, Jo threw in comments and remarks just to make Charlie laugh. And Dean thought she was just being considerate at first, but near the end of the night the girls were sneaking glances at each other when the other wasn’t looking. And Dean thought that maybe this double-date idea had been a better idea than he had hoped. 

xXx 

 _You’re being stupid,_ Cas thought to himself in frustration. _Why is this such a big deal? How old are you?_

Still, he couldn’t help himself; he couldn’t help how his heart absolutely trilled and fluttered at the feeling of Dean reaching out and taking his hand, right in the middle of the restaurant as they were heading for the door. Cas saw a few people looking at them curiously, but there was nothing malicious or judgmental about it.

And he thought back to Dean’s words, about being _real people._ Suddenly, Cas wasn’t hiding anymore or moving anonymously through a crowd. He was part of a _couple,_ out on a _date_ on Valentine’s Day _._ It was cliché and predictable and it made him so stupidly happy.

The drizzle had turned to snow; wet, heavy flakes that fell fast and thick. As they stepped out onto the sidewalk it settled almost instantly on Cas’s shoulders and in his hair. He watched as it soaked through the fabric of Dean’s jacket and settled on his eyelashes.

Dean was still holding his hand. He turned to Cas and used that leverage to tug at Cas’s hand and pull him in, capturing his lips in a soft, affectionate kiss. Dean’s lips tingled with warmth, a stark contradiction to the air around them, and Cas shivered.

“All right, you two.” Charlie admonished as she and Jo stepped out of the door behind them. Jo looked at her.

“Are they always like this?”

“Pretty much.”

Dean rolled his eyes, but didn’t comment. He looked at Jo. “You walked here, right? Do you need a ride? This weather’s getting ugly.”

Charlie ducked her head and Jo cleared her throat a little. “Actually…” She said, looking sideways at the redhead, “We’re gunna go and grab another drink somewhere.”

“Oh.” Dean blinked. Then it clicked. “ _Oh._ Okay. Well, you ladies have fun.”

Charlie and Jo nodded and turned to leave, but then Dean stopped them.

“Whoa, not so fast. Ground rules: don’t have her out too late.” He said, looking at Jo and pointing to Charlie. “Not everyone still lives the lifestyle of a 21-year-old.” He turned to Charlie. “And you – don’t let her drink the hard stuff.” He gestured to Jo. “Beer is okay, but give her some whiskey and she’s gunna start throwing punches.”

Both Charlie and Jo glared at him, muttering a chorus of “okay’s” and “I will” and “Relax, _mom.”_

“Yeah, yeah, just get out of here. Go.” Dean shooed them away, and the girls exchanged a look as they turned and headed off down the snowy street. Dean looked after them, biting his lip a little.

“I’m gunna regret this.” He muttered. Cas chuckled and pulled him in, in the same way that Dean had earlier.

This kiss was deeper and hotter, and Dean immediately responded, his breath sucking in a little in the cool night air. When they parted, Cas saw that Dean’s pupils had dilated and a blush warmed his cheeks. They were quiet for a moment, just looking at each other.

“Let’s go for a drive.” Dean whispered, and Cas nodded.

xXx 

Cas liked driving in the snow. There was something quiet and comforting about it; the soft crunch of the snow beneath the Impala’s tires, the rhythmic beating of the windshield wipers, the quiet rattle of the car’s heater. Dean drove until they reached the edge of town, and then he kept going, finally hitting a country road that sat on as much of a hill as Lawrence had to offer.

They could see the city lights. Lawrence wasn’t big, but it sort of looked it, from their vantage point. Miniature lights mapped out roads and neighborhoods, and tiny cars could be seen moving between them. Dean parked the Impala and turned off the headlights, though he kept the heater running.

Something about the scene felt familiar to Cas, as if he’d seen it before and he asked, “Isn’t this what happens in teen movies? The hot boy takes you to a secluded spot and attempts to seduce you?”

Dean chuckled, turning toward Cas as Cas shifted a little closer to him on the seat. He leaned in and gave Dean a lingering kiss.

“Are you saying you want me to seduce you?” Dean breathed, moving a hand up to trail his fingers along Cas’s jaw.

“Maybe. But it won’t be very difficult to do.” He whispered back, before capturing Dean’s lips again. They kissed heatedly for a moment, though it wasn’t building up to anything at present; it was more like a promise for later.

After a while, Cas shifted back and looked at Dean. Nerves tightened in his stomach as he said, “I know we said we weren’t making a big deal out of this, but… I got you a present.”

“Awe, come on, Cas, I told you not to. My birthday was like two weeks ago, I don’t need more presents.” Dean griped half-heartedly, one corner of his lip quirking up. Cas brightened a little. He’d been expecting a much worse reaction.

“It’s just, I have something I want to give you anyways, so it seemed to make sense…” Cas rambled a little. “But I know you said no presents. So I didn’t wrap it.”

Dean chuckled. “It’s okay. I kind of got you something too.”

Cas raised an eyebrow. “Kind of?”

“Yeah. It’s just… it wasn’t really my idea.” Dean looked down, and Cas smiled to see how flustered he was getting, “And it’s not like I bought anything. I’m just… passing it along.”

Cas frowned. “Oh… kay?”

Dean grimaced. “It’ll make sense in a minute. Here.”

Dean reached into the glove compartment, where there was a small, square package. Dean looked down at it, his cheeks reddening furiously, before he passed it to Cas.

Cas glanced at Dean before taking it. Turning it over in his hands, he saw that what he was holding was a homemade CD case. There was artwork on the front, and Cas recognized the style immediately, though this drawing was different from the first.

Dean and Cas were drawn in the same cartoon-ish style, only visibly from the waist-up and standing shoulder to shoulder. Dean was drawn with a rumpled collared shirt and tie, and Cas was wearing that argyle sweater vest. Dean held an iPod in his hands, and their heads were bent toward it. The headphone chord reached up between them – one ear bud for Dean, one for Cas.

There was a tiny music note, along with a heart, above their heads. Above it were the words _D + C Mix._

Cas looked up. His throat felt tight. “You made me a mix CD?”

“Well, sort of.” Dean shifted. “Siobhan made the first one – I found it in Charlie’s classroom a while back. It sorta freaked me out at first, but most of the songs weren’t half bad. So I picked out the ones I liked, added a few of my own, and made a new mix. Tracy helped me out with the cover art, obviously.”

Cas’s heart was thudding in his ears. He smoothed a trembling hand across the cover, picking out the freckles drawn on Dean’s face. He saw how Cartoon Cas’s eyes were looking sideways at Dean, and he was smiling shyly, while Dean grinned down at the iPod.

 _Wow,_ Cas thought. _I’m more transparent than I thought._

He looked up at Dean, and only then did he realize that he hadn’t say anything yet.

“I know it’s kinda dorky,” Dean started, but Cas shook his head.

“No. It’s not – Dean, I love it.” He said, so emphatically that Dean gave a relieved breath. “No one’s ever given me something they made themselves.”

Dean smiled, a little sadly. Cas fit his hand around the back of Dean’s neck and kissed him.

“I don’t know if my gift can follow that.” He said, half-jokingly. Dean squeezed his hand.

“Of course it can. Lay it on me.”

Taking a breath, Cas reached into his own jacket pocket and pulled out a square-shaped package looking very much like Dean’s.

“I didn’t make it or anything.” Cas mumbled as he handed it over. “But I thought you might like it.”

Dean took the CD and inspected the front.

“When Tracy read that poem in front of the class.” Cas explained. “This was the poet she used. He records his poems with a few musicians. And it seemed like you liked that poem, so I thought you’d want to see what his recorded stuff sounds like.”

After Dean’s ridiculously meaningful present, Cas was almost sure his paled in comparison. But when he looked up, he saw Dean looking at the CD with the strangest look in his eyes.

“What?” Cas asked, dread filling him. Had he somehow fucked up?

“Nothing.” Dean said, but his voice sounded tight. He blinked a few times, hard, and Cas realized that he seemed to be holding himself back. “It’s just… how did you know I liked that poem?”

Dean looked up at Cas now. His green eyes were glassy and bright. Cas swallowed. “I don’t know. Just this look on your face, I guess. Why?”

Dean shook his head a little, looking down at the CD case. “It’s just… that poem…” He hesitated; cleared his throat nervously. “It sort of made me realize that I was in love with you. I mean, I was for a while before that, I just… it took me a while to catch up.”

Dean fell quiet. He turned the case over and read the track names on the back. Cas didn’t say anything. The snow was suspended and soft around them, and Cas had the strangest sensation of being suspended inside of a snow globe. 

“In that poem,” Dean went on quietly, “The guy… he talks about finding other ways of saying ‘I love you’, because he couldn’t say it out loud. And I’ve never really been able to say it either, you know? I don’t know why. It’s always been just… too much. But then it was like, I couldn’t stand the thought of never saying that to you. I couldn’t stand the thought of you not knowing.”

Cas felt his forehead crease in a delicate frown. He opened his mouth to say something – to reassure Dean somehow, or comfort him – but then Dean surged forward, covering Cas’s mouth in a desperate, claiming kiss. Cas kissed him back just as urgently, his hands grabbing fistfuls of Dean’s jacket, his lungs pulling in the smell of him.

Dean fisted one hand through Cas’s hair, letting the dark strands run between his fingers. When they parted, their breathing had quickened and Cas could feel his heart hammering in his chest.

“I love you, Cas.” Dean said, his voice husky but certain. Cas closed his hands around his jacket, pulling him in just a little closer.

“I love you, Dean.”

Cas pressed his lips to Dean’s again, and soon they were tugging and pulling off jackets and clothes. And for any other two grown men, sex in the Impala should have been awkward and uncomfortable, but neither of them gave it a second thought. Like everything, they made it work; somehow finding a way to effortlessly fit and move together, confined space and difficult positions be damned.

The windows steamed up from the heat of their breath and bodies but Cas didn’t care. He didn’t care about lots of the things he used to, like being unnoticed and slipping through crowds and not leaving anything behind. Those things had left long ago, and in their place were a hundred different things that Cas never wanted to let go of. Like lazy Saturday mornings and a dog with one patch over her eye and nosy students who drew stupidly cute cartoons and a man with freckles like constellations across his skin.

And Cas was starting to get used to the idea that maybe he wouldn’t have to let go. This time, maybe these were things that could stay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My absolute favourite fan artist is Linneart, so that's who I imagine Tracy would draw like. She is in no way associated with this fic (she doesn't even know I exist because I am not worthy) but you can check out her art at linneart.tumblr.com if you haven't seen it.


	28. Bones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I wrapped this fic up, so I decided to just dump the remaining chapters on you guys, I hope you don't mind!! 
> 
> And about this chapter - I am hurt!Dean and protective!Cas trash and I couldn't help myself. This is the very last bit of angst in this fic, and then it's so fluffy I almost turned into a kitten just by writing it. 
> 
> Trigger Warning for mentions of a past experience with non-con undertones, so just be careful. 
> 
> Thank you guys for keeping up with this!

It was late on a Saturday night when Dean used their safe word for the first time. And for one terrifying split-second, he almost didn’t get it out. His mouth opened but no sound came, and he had to swallow hard before trying again.

“I-Impala.” Dean stuttered breathlessly, panic making his throat tight. Cas immediately stilled even though he’d hardly been moving to begin with.

They were pressed against the bedroom wall, clothes thrown and scattered around the room. Dean had his back to the wall and his legs wrapped around Cas’s torso, his thighs shaking. Cas’s arms were strong where they were braced behind Dean, and his broad shoulders bracketed him in.

And it was okay, really. Dean could have handled it, but then his back shifted and a very small, specific knob in his spine began to throb with pain. He grit his teeth and tried to ignore it, but each second that passed had it growing worse and worse.

If it were anywhere else, Dean wouldn’t have cared. But that spot was tender – would always be tender, after a particularly rough encounter in a bar bathroom the summer he was twenty-one. Some asshole had manhandled Dean into bottoming after the guy had paid for him to top, and Dean remembered bracing himself against that bathroom wall while the man was entirely too rough and hard, feeling a steady bruise throb to life in his back. It had been sore for weeks after that, and never did get back to normal.

Now, that spark of dull pain ignited a wildfire of past sensations, and Dean had done his best to ignore it, but soon he found himself gasping out their safe word for the first time.

Cas had just pushed inside Dean but hadn’t quite begun moving, and now he shifted back and looked at Dean’s face with dark, worried eyes.

“Dean?”

Dean just looked up at the ceiling, forcing his breaths to even out as he tapped Cas’s arms in something like surrender. Moving carefully, Cas lifted Dean off of him, and Dean let his feet fall to the floor. Only when Cas dropped his arms and stepped back did Dean feel like he could breathe again. 

He leaned back against the wall and slid down it, until he was sitting on the floor. Cas mirrored him.

“What is it?” Cas asked softly, watching as Dean passed his hand over his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s just…” Dean wouldn’t look at Cas. He breathed in hard through his nose, taking in the smell of his own apartment and of Cas, reminding himself he was okay. “I have this spot on my back. I don’t really like it touched too much. It’s an old injury and it just… bothers me.”

Cas frowned in concern. “Okay. Was it the wall?”

Dean nodded, still not looking at him. “I guess it got me at the wrong angle.” He said quietly.

“Okay. I’ll be more careful.” Cas said gently, reaching out and brushing his thumb across Dean’s bottom lip. Dean looked up at him. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

Dean shook his head. “Not right now.”

“Okay.” Cas said softly. For a moment they just looked at each other, blue eyes clashing with green, not a word needed. Then Dean leaned forward and cradled Cas’s face, lightly brushing their lips together.

“Why are you so good to me, Cas?” He whispered.

“Because I can be.” Cas said simply, before catching Dean’s lips with his own. He kissed him slow and hot for a moment.

Obediently, Dean let Cas lead him back and up until they crawled onto the bed. Dean settled on his back with Cas hovering above him, one hand braced behind Dean’s head and the other stroking down his side, fingers tingling from ribs to hip bone and back again.

The moment effectively gone, they made out lazily before falling asleep, but the incident was something both of them thought about for days afterward, even if they never said as much to each other.

xXx 

That Monday, Dean broke his arm. And it wasn’t a _big deal,_ really; he’d broken bones before. He didn’t have to be treated like a baby.

Still, Cas’s expression upon seeing Dean snow-white and nursing a rather unnatural bent right arm, was one of slight frustration but mostly concern.

“What happened?” He asked tightly, sitting down beside Dean on one of Benny’s workbenches. The older man stood across from them, his burly arms crossed and a sheepish expression on his face.

“Nothing.” Dean grit out, shying away from Cas when he reached out to look at the arm. “It’s fine; I think I just sprained it.”

“It’s not _nothing._ ” Benny talked over him. He looked at Cas apologetically. “We were wrestling. It got out of hand.”

Cas looked at Dean. “You were _wrestling?_ ”

“He started it.”

“Dean.” Cas squeezed his eyes shut. “I shouldn’t have to tell you _not_ to wrestle during your down time at school.”

“I know, I know.” Dean rolled his eyes. Cas reached out for the arm again, and this time, Dean let him take it. 

“Especially not with a man clearly outside of your weight category.” Cas muttered. Dean glared at him.

The bone was obviously broken, not sprained; Dean’s arm was bent at a strange angle right before the wrist. As soon as Cas touched his skin, no matter how gently, Dean winced.

Cas’s eyes flicked up to Dean’s face, but the man had already smoothed out the grimace.

“This looks like your radius.” Cas said, nodding at the bend. “You should probably go to the hospital.”

Dean groaned. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

“Is he ever joking?” Benny asked rhetorically, earning a bitch face from both of them.

“I don’t like hospitals.” Dean said to Cas. Cas gave a half-hearted roll of his eyes, but his face still softened. “I got a tensor bandage at home. Can’t I just wrap it up, put some ice on it and see how much Ibuprofen I can take before OD’ing?”

“Absolutely not.” Cas was frowning down at Dean’s arm again. “Can you move your fingers?”

Dean’s jaw bunched. “I can, but there’s no way in hell I’m going to.”

“We’re going to the hospital.” Cas re-iterated firmly. “Give me your keys.”

Scowling, Dean reached into his back pocket with his good hand and gave Castiel the keys to the Impala. He glanced up at Benny to see the man looking properly shameful, like a big dog who’d accidently bitten too hard.

Cas nudged Dean to his feet. Dean held his arm tucked in to his chest, the pain ranging from a dull throb in his shoulder to needle-point pricks of heat in his fingers.

“Don’t worry, Benny.” He said tightly as he passed the man. He shoved him a little with his good hand. “I’ll get you next time.”

“No you will not.” Cas said as he headed for the garage door. “No more wrestling with Benny. You’re grounded.”

xXx

It took them over five hours to see a doctor. The waiting room was a mess of sick kids, injured teenagers, and listless elderly people. Since Dean’s injury wasn’t an emergency, he was bumped to the bottom of the list. They waited to see a doctor for three hours, and all the while Castiel tried his best to distract Dean from the pain by quizzing him about books and TV shows and his favourite bands.

They waited forty-five minutes in an exam room until a doctor finally arrived. It took another half hour for x-rays, which revealed he’d broken his radius clean in half, as Castiel had predicted. Then another hour for Dean to get a cast and a prescription for the pain.

By the time Castiel stood at the counter of the pharmacy, Dean was thoroughly exhausted and already starting to conk out on the pain meds the doctor had given him in the exam room. He sat hunched over in a plastic chair, his cast cradled in his lap and his chin in his hand. He watched Cas with slightly bleary, tired eyes.

“And will you be Mr. Winchester’s primary caregiver throughout the time of the injury?” The pharmacist asked, her thin glasses perched on her nose as she looked at her computer’s monitor. There were a couple of orange pill bottles at her elbow.

“Yes.” Castiel said, ignoring the pride he felt at that word.

“Okay.” The pharmacist typed a little. “I’m sure the doctor already went through this, but I’m gunna repeat it anyway. Try to keep the arm as still as possible. No driving, no sports, no strenuous physical activity. It’s best to keep the arm elevated for a while, so keep it in a sling for the first week or so. You can use ice around the cast to ease the pain and keep the swelling down. And these,” She picked up one orange bottle, “Are just prescription-strength Ibuprofen. As needed. And these,” She picked up the other, “Are Oxycontin. There’s a pill for each morning for the next three days, and then he shouldn’t need them anymore. All the information is in this pamphlet.”

She folded a piece of paper and handed Castiel the pill bottles. Then she looked over at Dean, at his collared shirt with the sleeves rolled up and his tie hanging a little loose.

“Work injury?” She asked, lifting an eyebrow at Cas. He gave a soft snort. Men in sensible work suits probably weren’t her usual clients for broken bones.

“Hardly.” He replied. “He thought it would be a bright idea to have a wrestling match with a coworker.”

Behind him, Dean rolled his eyes tiredly. “It _was_ a bright idea. At the time.”

Cas sighed as he stuffed the pills in his jacket pocket. “I have a feeling that’s not the first time you’ve said that.”

The pharmacist gave him a sympathetic, if somewhat amused, smile. Her eyes flicked between Cas and Dean. “Boyfriends?”

Cas looked up sharply. The woman’s face was curious but friendly. He nodded.

“You guys are cute.” She said simply. Cas smiled.

xXx 

Castiel had a tiny file in his brain that read _things Dean hates._ Stored in that file were things like cats, vegan food, Smart Cars and birthday cake. Now added, at the bottom of that list, were the very important words _Dean hates not doing things for himself._

And of course, it was all made worse due to the fact that he had broken his _right_ hand. He couldn’t write or shift his car into gear; he couldn’t do most of the cooking. Which, of course, led Cas to do the majority of things for him, and Dean hated it.

Two mornings after the injury found Dean sitting on the bathroom counter, wearing nothing but boxers and a scowl on his face. Across from him, clad in a faded t-shirt and boxer briefs, Cas swiped a razor carefully through the shaving cream on Dean’s cheek.

“You hate this.” Cas stated with a somewhat amused expression.

“Surprised?” Dean raised an eyebrow at him. Cas shrugged.

“Not really.” He admitted. It was quiet for a moment. “I _am_ surprised you’re letting me help you this much.”

Dean gave a soft blush. “Yeah, well, I know how to pick my battles.” He mumbled. Cas chuckled softly. Things were quiet again. Cas rinsed some shaving cream off the razor in the sink, and then gently tapped Dean’s chin, encouraging him to lift it up so Cas could get his neck. Dean complied.

“You know,” Cas said carefully, once Dean could lower his chin again, “I’ve been thinking… about what happened the other night.”

Dean’s face immediately reddened and he looked down, swallowing hard. “Yeah.”

“You said you didn’t want to talk, then.” Cas set the razor down on the countertop, his hands shaking slightly. “Do you think you’re ever going to want to talk about it?”

The words seemed like they should have come out cold and harsh, but Cas’s voice made them cautious and kind. Dean still couldn’t look at him. He took a towel from the wall and rubbed the remaining shaving cream off his face.

“Not really.” He said quietly. “Is that okay?”

Cas swallowed. “Honestly, I’m not sure. This obviously still bothers you, and maybe it would help if you got it off your chest.”

Dean was quiet as he processed this. “So that’s the deal, then?” He asked softly. “Every time I freak out, I have to tell you why?”

“You don’t have to.” Cas replied. “But I’d like you to. I want you to feel like you can tell me things.”

Dean let out a low breath. “Okay, Cas. I’ll tell you – I will. But I just need some time, okay? Just a few days.”

Cas’s blue eyes were soft when he nodded. “Okay.”

xXx 

For the record, Dean hated having a broken arm. He had to get one student from every class to volunteer to write on the board for him. Cas insisted on driving the Impala. Maneuvering a computer mouse with his left hand was endlessly frustrating. The seniors were sending around a petition to get him and Benny to have a _rematch._

But, off the record? It sort of had its upsides. Like Cas wordlessly carrying things so Dean wouldn’t have to, and bringing him ice packs without Dean even voicing that niggling thought he’d had that he needed one. In the shower, with Dean’s cast looking ridiculous wrapped in plastic to protect it from the water, he let Cas lather shampoo in his hair. Cas was constantly asking Dean how he felt or if he was in pain, and Dean would always reply with his usual exasperated tone, when in truth he sort of liked it.

The only other time he’d allowed himself to be taken care of was after Wichita. And obviously, that hadn’t been under the best circumstances. He’d let his mom and brother coddle him because he was too tired (mentally, physically) to refuse. There had been no relief in it, for Dean. Only resignation.

This time was different. There was something so comforting about the knowledge that Dean _could_ do all of these things if he absolutely had to, but that he was letting Cas help anyways. Of course it helped when he realized that Cas wasn’t helping just because he thought Dean needed it, but because he _wanted_ to. Taking care of Dean made Cas feel good, Dean knew now, and that made it even better.

On a Friday night a week after the injury, Dean and Cas sat nestled on the couch. Dean was holding a beer with his good hand and his cast was resting lightly on top of Cas’s lap. Cas sat cross-legged beside him; his head bent over Dean’s cast as he added to the graffiti Dean had allowed his students to draw there.

Cas was currently drawing a bumblebee near the crook of Dean’s thumb. Papers intended for grading were spread out on the coffee table but they were already neglected, seeing as how they had an entire weekend ahead of them to procrastinate. The TV was playing some movie from the eighties and Lola was napping, stretched out on the living room carpet.

It was quiet and calm and peaceful. Dean still couldn’t get over the fact that he could use those words to describe his life. As he looked over at Cas, his throat began to itch slightly as he remembered the promise he’d made to talk to him.

_I don’t want to I don’t want to I don’t want to._

The words trailed through Dean’s head like a runaway train. But he realized that maybe he never would truthfully _want_ to; and maybe that was okay. Nobody liked talking about the shit that had scarred them.

“Cas,” Dean said quietly, shifting forward to place his beer on the coffee table. Cas glanced up at him but didn’t stop his doodling.

“Hm?”

“About the other night…”

Now, Cas stopped. He looked up at Dean, his Sharpie marker hovering above Dean’s cast. He didn’t say anything, just trusted that Dean knew what he wanted to say.

Dean took a breath. “I fucked up my back, once. Just this spot, here.” Dean shifted and reached around, pressing his fingers into that single knob of spine at the base of his back. Cas’s eyes followed the movement. He capped his pen and put it down. “I, uh… picked up this guy at a bar one night in college. He was a big, muscle-head type – I think he played for the football team or something. We ended up in the bathroom. He’d paid to bottom so that’s where we were headed. But I dunno, either he changed his mind at the last minute or he just didn’t want to pay extra to top – and he sort of… I dunno, it took me by surprise. He pinned me up against the wall, like the other night, and next thing I knew…” Dean trailed off, letting Cas fill in the blanks. The older man’s face was still and cool, his brows drawn over concerned eyes. “Anyway it gave me a nasty bruise on my back. I mean either the guy didn’t know his own strength or he didn’t care. And I was pretty tense the whole time. It took a long time for the bruise to fade and the ache to go away, but sometimes it still bothers me. It’s not really an experience I like to think about.”

Dean was surprised at how level and calm his voice sounded. He looked over at Cas and shrugged, bringing his broken arm back into his own lap. 

“So… that’s it. That’s why I freaked out.”

Cas was looking at Dean levelly, though he could see storms in those blue eyes. “Thank you for telling me, Dean. I had no idea.”

Dean nodded, his own throat feeling tight. They were quiet for a moment. Dean fidgeted.

“Dean, when you broke your arm…” Cas’s voice was slightly calmer now, “You didn’t hesitate to take the medication the doctor gave you.”

“Well, no.”

“Why not?”

“Because it hurt.” Dean said simply. Cas nodded slowly.

“And you took the ice packs I would give you without complaint.” He went on. Dean nodded.

“Ice helps.” Dean said. “Everybody knows that.”

“Right.” Cas said slowly. “So how is it, when it’s bodily pain, you’ll accept help – even if you’re not happy about it. But when it comes to other pain – emotional, mental – you shut down?”

Dean gave a long, hard sigh. He scratched his fingers through his hair. That train was still pumping steam in his brain, reminding him he did _not_ want to talk about this. But Dean reminded himself that this was the deal, now. If he wanted Cas, then he had to meet him halfway. No more emotional constipation.

“Because physical pain is easy.” Dean said, before he knew exactly what he was saying. “You can see it. You know where it hurts and why it hurts and you know how to fix it. You know it _can_ be fixed.”

“But not emotional pain?” Cas pressed. Dean shook his head.

“Not really. It doesn’t leave bruises or marks. Half the time, I’m not even sure if it’s real or not. Maybe I’m just overreacting.”

“Dean,” Cas leaned toward him a little, “When you stopped things the other night, it wasn’t just because of the physical pain of your back. Right?”

Dean shook his head again.

“And did you feel better when we stopped?”

Dean nodded.

“Exactly.” Cas agreed. “That doesn’t sound like overreacting to me. Maybe we can’t see emotional pain, but that doesn’t mean it’s not real. To me, it’s not any different from your broken arm. It’s valid, and it needs its own time to heal. Which it will.”

Dean looked down at his cast. His chest felt tight.

“You don’t have to tell me every reason for your ‘freak outs’, if you don’t want to.” Cas went on, his voice soft and soothing. “I respect your privacy. But never feel like you’re overreacting, or that it’s all in your head. Never.”

Dean’s eyes searched Cas’s face, wary to find just a hint of doubt. Of course, he found none. Dean nodded. “Okay.”

Letting out a breath, Cas leaned forward and caught Dean’s lips in a soft, affectionate kiss.

“You make everything sound so freakin’ simple.” Dean huffed quietly between kisses.

“Well you make everything sound inordinately difficult.” Cas replied dryly. “So I guess we even one another out.”

Dean chuckled softly, letting Cas shimmy his body down on the couch until Cas was hovering above him.

They made out lazily for the better part of the night, until Dean’s arm began to ache with dull pain and Cas got up to get him some painkillers.

They watched a few old movies that were playing on TV. Dean let Cas press an ice pack to the exposed part of his palm, sighing when he felt the numbing coolness reach his bones. Sometime around ten, he let the dregs of medication and beer pull him into a heavy sleep.

Cas didn’t even bother trying to move them to the bed. He just curled up on the couch beside Dean, pulling a blanket over both of them and falling asleep to the strangely comforting sounds of late-night infomercials and Lola snoring on the ground beside them.


	29. A New Home

_Whatever I find, I'll find my way back to you._

_ \- Jack Johnson, "Home"  _

 

The passing of time had never been easy before, but suddenly, it was. Spring came quietly to Lawrence, thawing out the chilled ground and bare trees. The days stretched longer and birds returned, singing loudly outside of Dean and Cas’s bedroom window early every morning – much to Dean’s annoyance and Cas’s quiet delight.

Lola had grown until the top of her boxy head reached Dean’s knee. She still tore through the stuffed toys Cas insisted on buying her, and they had to regularly replace the throw pillows she destroyed, but slowly her puppy behaviors were starting to fall away. Dean took her to an obedience class and she was practically a model canine citizen, walking perfectly on her leash and playing dead on command. Dean was inordinately proud.

The days passed in a comfortable rhythm for them, and these days were filled with things like early morning walks to the park and evenings spent with Dean trying to teach Cas how to cook. They argued over what movies to watch and whose turn it was to take the garbage out. Cas was always stealing Dean’s clothes, which the man pretended to be irritated about but they both knew he liked it.

Sam and Sarah got a puppy. She was a black Labrador named Scout, and she was instant best friends with Asher, though Lola treated the pup with something like older-sibling superiority.

Sunday dinners at Mary’s were suddenly packed. Between the two brothers, there were six people and two dogs squished in the matriarch’s house, which almost always resulted in something being broken or spilled. But Mary never complained. Dean could see it in the way his mom’s eyes lit up at the dinner table, at the way she smiled at Asher and Michael and how she snuck the dogs leftovers in the kitchen – Mary was ecstatic to finally have a family again. Even if said family was a little broken and patched together.

The only snag in their otherwise normal and happy lives, was the fact that Dean and Cas were quickly outgrowing their apartment. Trying to move around one another in the kitchen often resulted in spilled coffee and stubbed toes. Running into their next-door neighbors after a night of particularly loud marathon sex was more uncomfortable than either of them could have guessed. Cas began accumulating books so fast that he quickly filled up his bookshelf and then some, leaving novels and paperbacks lying around the apartment in random spots as if Cas were preparing for a weird, literary Easter hunt. The size of the apartment was even driving Lola crazy, whose full-grown body required more space than her puppy-self had. When not being walked she spent most of her time pacing, which always succeeded in pissing Dean off.

All in all, they needed a new place. They both knew it, and sometimes would throw around the idea of moving, but in reality they knew they couldn’t afford it. The furniture in Dean’s apartment came with the apartment. The thought of having to buy furniture and appliances alone was enough to make Dean sweat with anxiety, never mind buying the actual house. And it had to be a house; Lola needed the space, Cas was eager to have a yard and Dean was holding out for a garage for Baby. Never mind that moving in to a new place _together_ was a huge, huge step. So it remained a bit of a pipe dream, niggling away at the back of their minds for weeks.

It was a particularly beautiful afternoon in May and Dean found himself outside, breathing in thick, late-Spring air as he coached the senior baseball team. He was standing near the dugout and watching Krissy Chambers – who’d fought her way through school administration and the PTA board to play on the team – narrow her eyes on the catcher’s mitt as she wound up for another pitch. Lola was sprawled at Dean’s feet, her eyes sharp on the ball and her tongue lolling out of her mouth.

“Do my very eyes deceive me?” A distinct, drawling voice sounded behind Dean, and he jumped. “Coach Winchester, complete with lovable mutt and a give ‘em hell attitude.”

Dean turned to see Rufus Turner, his face even more lined and aged than he remembered, with his hands in his pockets and an affectionate scowl on his face. Dean brightened instantly.

“Rufus?” He said, and Rufus’s face cracked into a grin as he stepped forward and pulled Dean into a back-slapping hug. He laughed huskily.

“It’s been a long time, kid.” Rufus said, leaning away and taking a look at Dean. Dean just blinked at him in disbelief. .

“Yeah, no kidding. Nine years? Eight?”

“Something around there.” Rufus said dismissively as he bent down to scratch Lola’s ears. “But don’t worry, I’ve been keepin’ up with you boys through the grapevine.”

“By grapevine, you mean my mom and Bobby.” Dean clarified. Rufus shrugged.

“Naturally.”

Dean chuckled. “So why are you in Lawrence? Hell of a long drive from Sioux Falls.”

Rufus straightened again, squinting out at the field where Dean’s kids continued to play their game of scrimmage. There was something suddenly serious and somber to his face.

“Been meaning to for a while, actually. I have some things I need to tie up. I wanted to find you first, though. Your mom said you’d be here.”

“Me?” Dean asked stupidly. “Why?”

Rufus didn’t answer. He watched the players for a moment. “When’re you finished?”

Dean glanced at the time on his cell. “In a half hour.”

“Good. I’ll wait.” And with that, Rufus sat down on the player’s bench and helped himself to a bag of sunflower seeds one of the kids had left there.

Dean just shrugged and returned to his post, knowing it was better than to argue with Rufus. He was the type of man that only did things when he was good and ready.

Forty minutes and a slight confrontation between Krissy Chambers and a first basemen later, and the ball diamond was empty except for Dean, Lola and Rufus.

Dean was just wearing a hoodie, but he pulled the sleeves down over his arms as the sun began to set and a chill came into the air.

“So what’s up, Rufus?” He asked as he poured water out of a water bottle for Lola. She lapped at the stream loudly.

“Let’s go for a drive.” Rufus said as he rose stiffly to his feet.

“What about the dog?” Dean gestured to Lola. He hadn’t driven to the practice, but had walked with Lola.

“What do you think I am, King Tut?” Rufus griped as he moved in the direction of the parking lot. “Bring the dog, she’s probably cleaner than my truck cab anyways.”

Rufus wasn’t joking. When Dean and Lola climbed onto the seat of Rufus’ old Ford, he was immediately hit with the smell of tobacco, dust and whiskey. But it wasn’t unpleasant; it brought back a torrent of memories from when Rufus had lived in Lawrence. He could remember early morning drives to school when John had been too hungover (or still drunk) to drive Dean himself; he thought of hanging out in the cab during long hours at the garage, his homework spread out on the dash.

Now, the tears in the seat cushion were bigger than Dean remembered. The radio was still missing buttons. Newspapers and car manuals littered the floor, and there was a large spider-web crack in the windshield.

“Never upgraded, huh?” Dean asked as he did up his seatbelt. Lola sat happily between him and Rufus.

“Why would I?” Rufus demanded as he pulled out of the parking lot. “Thing runs just fine.”

Dean smiled, suddenly realizing how much he missed Rufus’ blunt and grumpy conversation.

As it turned out, Rufus _had_ been keeping up with Dean and Sam. He asked Dean about Cas, and about Asher and Michael. And in his sour way, Rufus told Dean about the garage he and Bobby owned in Sioux Falls – how Bobby was content to work until he dropped dead, but Rufus wanted to sell the place and go fishing until the good Lord took him.

After twenty minutes of driving, Dean realized he knew where they were going. But he still didn’t say anything – not even when they turned off the highway just outside of the city and wound up the long drive to Rufus’ cabin.

The evergreens created a dark canopy above them, but the log cabin itself stood in a tiny clearing, surrounded by oak and birch trees. Dean’s heart twisted with nostalgia. He and Sam used to spend weekends there in the summer; it had been one of the only times the brothers could really bond.

Without a word, Rufus parked the truck outside of the cabin and climbed out. Dean and Lola followed.

“Haven’t been here in ten years.” Rufus said, his voice ringing a little in the quiet air. He dug a pair of keys out of his pocket.

“Not even to upkeep?” Dean asked. Rufus shook his head.

“I got a friend in the city who’d check in once in a while.” Rufus walked up to the door, unlocked it and stepped inside. Dean and Lola were close behind.

Quietly, Rufus inspected his cabin. He brushed some dust off the kitchen table and opened a few bare cupboards. He switched the power on and then checked the lights; even the TV in the living room still worked. Dean took in the old couch and the fishing photographs on the walls and let the aching nostalgia wash over him.

Rufus ventured back to check on the two bedrooms and the bathroom, flicking on lights as he went. Dean waited patiently by the door, unsure whether he should follow.

Eventually Rufus came back out into the open area of the kitchen and living room. He leaned against the kitchen table and twirled the keys in his hand.

“All the lights still work.” He said. “Water should be fine. It’s got city water now – ‘bout time, too, though lot of good it does me now. Furniture is gunna stay here ‘cause I don’t anyone else who would want it at this point.”

Dean frowned at him, confused. “Oh... kay?”

Rufus turned his eyes on Dean. “So do you want it, or what?”

Dean just blinked. “Want what?”

“My virginity, I don’t think I need it.” Rufus said sarcastically. “The cabin, dumbass, what do you think I’m talking about?”

Dean was floored. He looked around at the cabin. “But… it’s yours.”

“I’m closing up shop.” Rufus said, and now his voice turned somber. “Things are slowing down for me. I mean I got arthritis in my damn knee, my diabetes already took two toes. Last week it took me three hours to find the keys to my truck – turns out I left them in freezer.”

Rufus chuckled, but Dean just swallowed, a strange ache smarting in his chest.

“I figure I got a few years left.” Rufus went on, sounding positively calm and at peace about it. “And you know they say you can’t take it with you. When I go, I want nothing but my truck and a fishing boat to my name, and I’ll be a happy man.”

Dean just stared at him, dumbfounded. “You’re giving me the cabin?”

“If you want it.” Rufus shrugged. “No skin off my nose if you don’t, but I’d like to see it go to someone I know won’t tear the place down.”

“Rufus, you know I love this place.” Dean took a step toward him. “But I just don’t have the money. I mean, teachers don’t exactly get paid top dollar.”

“Who said anything about selling it?” Rufus frowned at him. “What am I going to do with that kind of money? Buy a yacht? No thank you.”

“Well I can’t just _take_ it from you.”

“Sure you can.” Rufus tossed the keys at him. Dean caught them reflexively. “I was going to leave it to you in my will anyways. What’s the difference in taking it pre-mortem? The place is paid for, so you won’t have a mortgage. You just have to pay utilities and the taxes on the land.”

Dean looked down at the keys, and then up at the cabin around him. A strange feeling was swirling in his gut. His mind flashed with visions of Cas making coffee in that kitchen, and being as loud as they fucking want during sex because only the birds outside would hear, and he thought of taking Lola for morning walks through the forest around the cabin instead of down a suburban street…

And yet there was this dull ache in his chest, because he knew what a glaring sign this was of Rufus’ mortality. A man who, along with Bobby, had acted as one of the few healthy father figures in his life.

“You don’t have to say anything.” Rufus said, seeing the emotion on Dean’s face. “Just take the damn keys. I thought about this a lot, Dean, and it’s what I want. Bobby and I tried hard to give you the things your daddy couldn’t. This seems like a good last attempt to me.”

Dean took a deep breath and blinked the tears away from his eyes. He closed his hand around the keys. Wordlessly, he strode over to Rufus and pulled him into crushing hug.

“Thank you, Rufus.”

“Don’t thank me.” Rufus replied, but his voice was softer now. “But you and that boyfriend better be sending me a bottle of Johnny Walker Blue every Christmas until I kick the bucket.”

Dean chuckled weakly. “Deal.”

xXx

Cas tried his hardest not to be worried when Dean had come home late after his baseball practice. Dean was never usually late, but Cas argued that that was no reason to revert to _concerned and overprotective boyfriend_ mode.

His suspicions were heightened, though, when Dean came home as practically the living embodiment of a ray of sunshine. He was whistling, all smiles as he refilled Lola’s water dish and pecked Cas on the lips.

“What’s with you?” Cas asked warily. Don’t get him wrong; he was glad Dean was in such a good mood. But in his experience, those moods usually came with a catch. Like the inevitable endorphin crash that had Dean fighting the dark dregs of depression for days afterward.

“Nothing.” Dean shrugged, grinning at Cas as he pulled a beer out of the fridge. “Can’t a guy be happy?”

“Of course.” Cas allowed. “Only this morning, you went on a five-minute rant just because you jammed your thumb in the washing machine.”

Dean shrugged. “Things turned around.”

“Care to elaborate?”

Dean took a swig of beer, his lips still pulled into a smile. Cas’s irritation piqued.

“Dean.”

“Busy after school tomorrow?” Dean asked, ignoring Cas’s disgruntled expression. Cas shook his head. “Good. We’re going for a drive.”

“Tell me that’s not as ominous as it sounds.” Cas deadpanned. Dean shook his head.

“Not ominous.” He said. “It’s just… a surprise.”

Cas’s eyebrows shot up. Well… this was new. “Okay.”

Cas had never really liked surprises all that much. Still, seeing as how it was Dean delivering said surprise, his suspicion quickly turned to excitement. The next day, it seemed to take forever for the end of the school day to reach them. Cas waited impatiently through each of his classes, and then he waited even less patiently as Dean drove the Impala out of the city and down a barely-used side road. The windows were cracked open and Cas could smell pine needles and sap.

“Dean, please just tell me where we’re going.” Cas pleaded for the tenth time. Dean was undeterred.

“Almost there.” He said instead. Cas pressed his lips shut in annoyance.

Finally, the shield of evergreen trees above them broke and a small, slightly neglected cabin came into view. Cas’s annoyance quickly turned to curiosity.

Dean parked the Impala and got out without a word. Cas followed suit, his eyes on the cabin the entire time.

Dean didn’t move to the cabin’s front door, like Cas had expected. Instead he just leaned against the Impala’s grill and looked at it. Cas leaned beside him.

“What do you think?” Dean asked, nodding at the cabin. Cas looked at it.

“It’s charming.” He said truthfully. He turned to Dean. “But I don’t get it. Why are we here?”

Holding back a grin, Dean produced a pair of keys from his pocket and slid them into Cas’s palm. “It’s ours.”

Cas’s eyes widened as he looked at the keys, and then at the cabin again. “It’s… _what?_ ”

“It’s ours.” Dean repeated.

“Dean, I don’t understand.” Cas tilted his head at Dean. “We’ve talked about this. We can barely afford a bigger apartment, let alone a cabin, and on this amount of land…”

Cas’s voice died out when Dean started shaking his head. “I didn’t buy it. You remember Rufus? I think I told you about him.”

Cas’s eyes narrowed as he racked his brain. “Bobby’s friend? They live in Sioux Falls, right?”

Dean nodded. “This is Rufus’ cabin. He’s getting old and doing the whole parting-with-earthly-possessions thing, and he gave it to me.”

“He gave it to you.” Cas repeated dumbly.

“Lock, stock and barrel.” Dean grinned at him. He took Cas’s hand and the keys. “Come on. I’ll show you.”

And Dean did show him.

The cabin was exactly everything that Cas liked. It was simple and unique. There was a small, covered porch at the front and a deck at the back. The windows were big enough that sunlight got through the trees and lit up the inside. The floors were hardwood and the furniture was old but filled with character. The bedrooms were small but cozy, with white drapes on the windows and quilts on the beds.

Cas loved it instantly.

“I mean, we can always renovate.” Dean said as he led Cas through the cabin. “The kitchen definitely needs a bit of work. But we can expand, too – I mean, if we want an extra bathroom or something. It’s only a twenty-minute drive to work and there’s _tons_ of space for Lola to run her legs off. There’s no garage, but I could build one someday. Rufus said it gets city water now. And it’s paid off, so no mortgage. No rent. Just utilities and taxes.”

They stood in the bigger of the two bedrooms, and Dean walked over to crack open the window. The sound of birds and the scent of country air floated in.

Cas hardly dared believe his eyes or ears. Dean turned to him.

“So…” Cas squinted, trying to wrap his head around this. “This place is yours now?”

Dean walked over to him and put his hands on Cas’s hips. “It’s _ours_ now.”

Cas gave a shaky breath, and he allowed himself a timid, joyous smile. “This seems… too good. I can’t quite believe it.”

Dean held him closer and lightly brushed his nose against Cas’s, before kissing him softly. “Me either, Cas. But sometimes good things happen.”

xXx

They gave a month’s notice at the apartment, and that last month seemed to drag on forever. It’s not like they had much to pack up or loose ends to tie. Dean put in forms for a change of address, and managed to convince Cas to put a permanent address to his own name.

What with the end of the school year approaching, moving day couldn’t have come at a busier time. But Dean and Cas were happy to shove their schoolwork aside for the last weekend of May, so that they could officially kiss Dean’s cramped apartment goodbye and settle into the cabin.

Naturally, they took the bigger of the two bedrooms. They put brand new sheets on the bed and took down Rufus’ tackier décor – like the robotic fish that sang Buddy Holly songs and the statue of the moose wearing a fishing vest. There was an entire floor-to-ceiling bookshelf in the living room that Cas was quick to put to good use. They jokingly called the spare bedroom Lola’s bedroom, which the dog took to heart when she fell asleep soundly on top of the bed.

The fishing photographs were packed up and mailed to Rufus, on the off chance he wanted to keep them. Dean’s flat-screen TV replaced the ancient TV that Rufus had. The coffee maker and microwave looked strange and space age-ish on the old kitchen countertop, but it was sort of a nice contradiction. The aged fridge was soon filled with beer and Dean set up his record player in the living room, his records stacked neatly on a shelf beside it.

They opened the windows and let the warm summer air in. Cas started making plans for bird feeders and houses.

In the span of a few hours the cabin felt like theirs. And of course, Dean and Cas celebrated this fact by doing it on every surface that would hold them.

It was around two in the morning, and after round three on the living room’s tiny couch, when Cas suddenly whispered into Dean’s skin,

“Today’s the first of June, right?”

Dean pulled himself out of his post-orgasmic haze to think. “It’s past midnight, so yeah, I guess.”

Cas hummed thoughtfully for a moment. They were pressed chest-to-chest on the couch, Cas’s head tucked beneath Dean’s chin, and Dean was stroking his hair with his fingers idly.

“I think today is our anniversary.” Cas said quietly. Dean pulled back to look at him.

“What? No it’s not. Our anniversary would be the eighth, technically.”

“How do you figure?” Cas squinted at him.

“November eighth.” Dean muttered, somewhat embarrassed. “That’s when I took you to meet Sam. I’d say we were official at that point.”

“November first.” Cas countered. “Was our first kiss.”

“So? That’s not when we started dating.”

“You didn’t take me on an official date until Valentine’s Day.” Cas argued. “So if you want to go by technicalities, go by that.”

Dean frowned. “That’s not fair. We didn’t really have a conventional start to our relationship. Dates weren’t a priority.”

“Exactly.” Cas agreed. “So I say that, from that first kiss onward, I was as good as yours. Hence: our anniversary.”

Dean thought about this for a moment, and then softened. “All right, you win. Our anniversary is the first.”

Cas smiled happily. He reached up and brushed his mouth over Dean’s kiss-bruised lips. “Happy seven-month anniversary, Dean.”

Dean wound his fingers through Cas’s hair and kissed him deeply.

“I wish I would’ve thought ahead.” Dean said once they’d pulled apart. “I could have gotten you something.”

“Well,” Cas paused to let out a yawn, “Technically, you got us a house. I’d say you’re off the hook.”

Dean closed his eyes and snuggled closer to Cas, pulling the quilt off the couch behind them and draping it over their bodies. “Touché.”

They were quiet for a moment, their breaths evening out as they were pulled closer and closer to sleep. “What did you get me?” Dean asked.

“Hours of amazing sex.” Cas muttered sleepily, “Along with breakfast tomorrow morning.”

Dean hummed. “If you’re cooking, I think I might pass.”

Cas chuckled. “Dick.”

“But you love me.”

“Yeah.” Dean sighed as he let sleep wrap its fingers around him, “I do.”

Within seconds, they were both dead to the world, their chests rising and falling steadily as the forest hummed with satisfaction around them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that Rufus' cabin isn't canonically in Lawrence, but I took a few liberties with it :P


	30. Growing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is short, but I thought it was absolutely mandatory that Cas get a garden.

Teenaged-Dean had always imagined there would be this huge sense of freedom when he first moved out. He’d had fantasies about ordering pizza late at night and drinking juice straight from the carton; he could smoke in the house if he wanted and marathon movies until the wee hours of the morning.  

It had never felt like that. When Dean had first moved out and into the dorms at college, the only thing he really experienced was relief. He was just grateful to come and go as he pleased, without fear that something as simple as forgetting to lock the back door would send his father into a violent rage. That relief was so taxing that it didn’t leave much room for doing all the other things he had imagined. And then before he knew it, he’d moved in to that apartment and the years had passed by, without him really experiencing his freedom at all.

At twenty-nine years old, Dean was finally living out those fantasies. He and Cas slept entire weekends away. They made love without worrying about the noise and only emerged from their bedroom to make food in the night-darkened kitchen. Dean played his records as loud as he wanted whenever he wanted; Cas got a subscription to the newspaper and a few literary magazines.

Meanwhile, Charlie and Jo’s fledgling relationship had bloomed into a full-out romance. Dean was suddenly seeing his childhood best friend everywhere, seeing as how she and Charlie were attached at the hip. She would pick Charlie up from school and come out with her to Pam’s. Every once in a while, Mary would invite the two over for Sunday supper.

Jo was amazed with Charlie’s affinity for computers and found her nerdy tendencies endlessly endearing; Charlie, on the other hand, was in awe of Jo’s boundless confidence and her skills with weapons.

Jo, as it turned out, had also picked up the hobby of photography over the past few years. She was happy to take on Charlie as a protégé, and as a result whenever Dean and Cas saw the two, there was always a camera flashing somewhere. Mostly Dean found it annoying but he didn’t really complain – because hate it or not, both Charlie and Jo turned out to have a pretty keen eye. It wasn’t long before the cabin was littered with photographs: Dean and Cas sitting on the hood of the Impala during a spring sunset, Dean posing with Michael on graduation day, Mary laughing as Lola covered her chin in slobber, Sarah giving Asher a piggy-back ride, Sam giving Sarah an affection kiss on the forehead.

But mostly, there were pictures of Dean and Cas. Dean and Cas helping the school make a rainbow banner for Pride Week; Dean and Cas helping Tanya frost a birthday cake (there was more frosting on their clothes than anywhere else); Dean and Cas at a restaurant with Mary on Mother’s Day.

Dean’s absolute favourite picture, though, is one of Cas sprawled out on the couch fast asleep. His lips are slightly parted and a heavy five o’clock shadow darkened his face. His dark hair stuck up at odd angles. And spread out on his chest, despite her now considerable size, was Lola, just as far-gone.

Dean kept that picture in his wallet.

And he knew that it was unbelievably sappy. He just didn’t care anymore. 

xXx 

On a rainy evening in July, Dean lost Cas in a bookstore. He’d been hunting down some cheap paperbacks to replenish his classroom’s already dwindling supply, when he realized he hadn’t seen the man for the past twenty minutes.

He wasn’t staring curiously at the bookcases under “religion” and he wasn’t flipping through volumes of poetry Dean knew for a fact he already had. He wasn’t browsing car magazines with an utterly baffled expression.

Dean eventually found him in the “home and garden” section, his brow furrowed in fascination as he looked at a book about growing your own organic produce. And Dean couldn’t help but chuckle a little, at the way his eyes were so focused and his lips had pursed into a concentrated pout. Dean didn’t know if anyone else could look so goddamn adorably interested in gardens, but somehow Cas pulled it off.

“What are you looking at?” Dean asked quietly as he cocked an eyebrow at the book. Cas glanced up and quickly put the book back on the shelf.

“Nothing.” He muttered, his eyes darting nervously at other titles pertaining to vegetables and herb gardens and growing tomatoes. He cleared his throat a little. “I just… I like gardens. They’ve always sort of… fascinated me.”

Dean blinked. “Oh. I didn’t know that.”

Cas looked a little self-conscious. He ran his hands through his hair and gestured to the books in Dean’s hand. “Ready?”

“Yeah.” Dean said. “Let’s go.”

Cas headed for the till, and Dean followed, but not before throwing those books a last glance.

xXx

A few days later, Castiel woke up and immediately stiffened when he realized he was alone in bed. It was a rare occurrence; even if Cas was more prone to sleeping in, Dean hardly ever left the bed until Cas was awake, too.

Stumbling a little with sleep-addled disorientation, Cas rubbed a hand through his hair and tried to keep his eyes open as he wondered out into the hall.

The cabin was quiet. He could faintly smell coffee coming from the kitchen, and it called to him enticingly. But there was no other sense of movement or life. The TV or record player weren’t on and Lola’s nails weren’t clicking on the hardwood, and the bathroom stood empty. Cas frowned.

Suddenly, he heard a peculiar sound coming through the back screen door: almost like a hammering. Not caring that he was only wearing boxer briefs – that was the beauty of living in the country, after all – he stepped out the back door and continued across the deck, until he could see the trees and forest surrounding the cabin.

Dean was standing on the flat and open expanse of grass just beyond the porch, surrounded by a confusing myriad of wooden stakes sticking out of the ground. As Cas’s sleep-worried eyes took in the sight, he realized that the stakes were organized to form squares. Dean was steadily hammering them into the ground. Behind him, Lola was trotting happily through the trees, snapping at long stems of grass as she went.

Dean caught sight of Cas and his entire face lit up. He lifted his arms in a wide gesture, encompassing the wooden stakes around him.

“What do you think?” He called. Cas frowned and leaned on the wooden railing of the back porch.

“I don’t understand what I’m looking at.” He admitted, somewhat grumpily, seeing as how he could still be in bed at this point. Dean dropped the hammer he was holding and joined Cas on the deck, their shoulders rubbing together companionably.

“It’s too late to do it this year,” Dean explained, “But I thought we could get a garden going. I read up on it and apparently it’s good if you map it out and fertilize the soil over the winter – that way it’ll be good for next spring.”

Cas’s breath left him in a tiny _whoosh._ He looked at Dean. “We can have a garden? Really?”

“Of course we can.” Dean said easily. He gestured out at the tiny plot of land again. “I figured this spot gets enough sun, and the trees are far enough away that they won’t starve out whatever we plant.” Dean looked at his wooden stakes somewhat proudly and then turned to his boyfriend. “So what do you wanna plant, Cas?”

Cas swallowed, his eyes shining a little as he looked out at what – in a year’s time – would be _his garden._

“Carrots?” He asked, almost as if he could be wrong. “And potatoes would be useful. Squash, maybe, and cucumbers. Tomatoes are relatively easy to grow. And pumpkins! I’ve always wanted to grow my own pumpkins.”

Dean chuckled and pressed an affectionate kiss to Cas’s still sleep-tousled hair. “Whatever you want, we’ll have it, Cas.”

Cas closed his eyes, letting Dean’s words and soothing voice wash over him. “Thank you, Dean.”

For a little while they just stood there together, watching as Lola barked at squirrels and the sun slowly climbed higher in the sky. The forest was quiet and calm. The traffic from the highway was still there, a distant and somewhat reassuring sound.

Cas had never really had a home, and as a result he’d started to doubt that _home_ was a concrete thing at all. Home was a person or a time, he’d decided, and had promptly given up on trying to find either. But now, Cas realized that maybe he’d stumbled upon it by accident. After far too long, he was home.


	31. Actual Husbands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for sticking around this long!! Writing this fic was so fucking fun, and I'm sad it's over. It's what kept me sane during a pretty hectic fall at film school. I hope you guys had just as much fun reading it. 
> 
> So, as promised, here is the unbelievable fluffy and stupidly happy conclusion. Enjoy!

_I wanna be with you all the time_

_every day; every night_

_you're my deja vu._

_\- Joan Armatrading, "This Charming Life"_

 

Benny and Andrea got married on a cool Sunday in September. They knew it was quick – they’d only been dating for a year – but Benny argued he wasn’t getting any younger, and he’d never been a man to wait around for what he wanted. Luckily, Andrea was as eager to tie the knot as he was.

This was how Dean and Cas found themselves done up in their best suits, sitting at a reception in a fancy hall downtown and forcing down glasses of cheap champagne. Jo was endlessly snapping pictures of them, claiming Cas’s all-black three-piece suit would translate _perfectly_ in black and white print, and that there was limited opportunity to see Dean Winchester in a three-piece suit at all, so she had to take advantage.

Jo and Charlie themselves were arguably one of the best-dressed couples at the wedding. Charlie was wearing an emerald-green and sequined dress, which was cut high up on the thigh and supposedly allowed her to “let our her inner Slytherin”. Jo was wearing a little black number with no sleeves and which showcased a very generous portion of her back.

A few hours into the dance, Cas allowed himself to be dragged onto the dance floor by Charlie, and Jo settled into a chair at their table beside Dean. She was watching Charlie affectionately, her usually foxlike eyes growing soft. Dean smiled at her knowingly.

“You really like her, don’t you?” He asked.

“I’m crazy about her.” Jo admitted in a rare show of honesty. She turned to Dean. “Which I owe all to you, by the way. If you hadn’t dragged me out last February, then this probably never would have happened. So thanks.”

Jo picked up a glass of champagne and Dean did the same, clinking his glass against hers and taking a small sip. He scrunched his nose and put the glass back down forcefully.

“Do you ever think about this sort of thing?” Jo asked after a moment, her eyes on Charlie again.

“What sort of thing?” Dean asked, though he was sure he could guess. Jo gestured around them at the wedding reception.

“ _This._ A wedding, marriage – the whole nine.”

Dean glanced at Cas, before he took a breath and looked down at his shoes. “Honestly? Yeah. A lot, actually.”

“So why don’t you do it?” Jo asked, as if it were that simple. Dean’s mouth suddenly felt dry. “You guys have been dating for almost a year now, the next natural thing is to get engaged. And besides, you and Cas have basically the most perfect relationship I’ve ever seen.”

“It is _not_ perfect.” Dean said adamantly.

“And realizing that is half the battle.” Jo said wisely. “So you guys already have a head start.”

Dean sighed.

“What’s stopping you?” Jo pressed. Dean’s gaze was still fixed on the floor.

“What if he says no?”

Jo’s face softened, and she reached a hand out to touch Dean’s arm. “Dean, he won’t. Trust me. He looks at you like you hung the damn stars in the sky.”

Dean blushed in embarrassment, but he didn’t argue. They fell silent again.

“What about you?” Dean lifted his eyes to Jo, and then around at the hall in all its gaudy wedding glory. “You ever think about tying the not someday?”

“Someday.” Jo smiled. “I always imagined having those really cliché cake-toppers – except it would be two brides, obviously – and I want it to be in the summer, so everything could be outside. Except with my luck it would probably rain.”

Dean chuckled quietly. His eyes found Cas again, and this time he imagined a different wedding – a wedding where Sam was a best man and Cas had a brand new ring on his finger. His heart swelled painfully.

“It’ll happen in time, though.” Jo went on. “I mean, Charlie and me are still figuring things out as we go. But you and Cas? Yeah, that needs to happen – soon. And I totally call dibs on being a grooms-woman.”

“Is that even a thing?” Dean frowned at her. Jo shrugged.

“I don’t care. Make it a thing.”

Dean laughed and the song ended, and Cas and Charlie made their way back to the table. There was no more talk of hypothetical weddings or marriages for the rest of the night, but it was something that Dean thought about endlessly for weeks afterward.

xXx

In the true fashion of Lawrence’s temperate climate, the entire month of October passed without snow. Dean and Castiel passed Halloween night by watching every scary movie that Dean liked and that Cas had (of course) never seen. But a break for popcorn halfway through _The Shining_ had turned from a make-out session in the kitchen to headboard-slamming sex in the bedroom, and so by three o’clock in the morning, their movie marathon was long forgotten.

They were a heap of boneless satisfaction, bed sheets tangled around limbs and skin, when Cas turned to the window and whispered softly,

“It’s snowing.”

Dean had been resting his cheek on Cas’s bare chest and he lifted his head a little, squinting out their bedroom window. Huge, thick snowflakes were falling fast past the windowpane. If he listened hard enough, he could hear it settling on the roof.

“Lola’s gonna go crazy tomorrow morning.” He said quietly, and Cas chuckled softly in agreement, the movement rumbling through his body.

A strong feeling of contentment washed over Dean in waves, and he propped his head up on his arm, staring unabashedly down at Cas. The man’s cheeks were still a little flushed and his lips looked kiss-worn; his hair was sticking up in that haphazard way that Dean loved. Dean reached up with his other hand and gently rasped the pads of his fingers along the stubble on Cas’s jaw.

For a long moment, they just looked at each other. Dean took in the eddies of blue in Cas’s eyes and Cas just looked back, such obvious affection in his eyes that he thought it would surely kill him. But of course it didn’t.

_Is this even normal?_ The thought occurred to Dean, only half-formed. _Surely people don’t just stare at each other like this. It shouldn’t be possible to feel like this._

And then, before he really even had the chance to turn the words over in his mind, Dean whispered,

“Marry me.”

Cas blinked. His hand paused where he’d been tracing lines on Dean’s stomach and the calm, hazy expression slipped from his face.

“Are you…” He breathed, his voice husky, “Really?”

“Really.” Dean repeated, his heart hammering in his chest. “I was going to ask you tomorrow – you know, one-year anniversary and everything – but I can’t wait any longer. I have a ring – here…”

Den scrambled to his bedside table and Cas sat up, gathering the sheets around him as he crossed his legs. Dean produced a tiny black box from the drawer and handed it to Cas.

Cas gave Dean a nervous glance before prying it open. Inside were two rings – just simple silver bands, glinting softly in the snowy light coming from the window.

“I know usually just the chick wears an engagement ring.” Dean scratched the back of his neck nervously, “But I figured this worked better for us. I mean, if you say yes.”

For the first time, through his nerves, terribly inklings of doubt threaded through Dean, and he watched anxiously as Cas reached out a finger and slowly traced the outline of each ring. After what seemed like ages, those blues eyes lifted to his again.

“God, yes, I’ll marry you.” He breathed, fitting his hand around the back of Dean’s neck and pulling him in for a deep, loving kiss. Dean positively melted, his lips fitting to Castiel’s effortlessly as his breath left him in a relieved whoosh.

When they parted, they rested their foreheads together and Dean laughed out, “Thank God.”

“Did you think I could ever possibly say no?” Cas asked and Dean winced.

“I don’t know. You know me.”

“Yeah.” Cas agreed simply. They shifted apart and Dean took the little black box from Cas.

“May I?” Dean asked softly. Cas nodded jerkily. 

Dean carefully pried one ring from the box and Cas lifted his hand. Dean blinked furiously as he slid the ring on his finger, telling himself _this is sappy enough, you will not cry, dammit._

When Cas took the other ring from the box Dean lifted his own hand, except it was shaking so much that Cas had to hold it steady. Then they just looked down at the rings, a sense of joyous disbelief ringing in the air between them, before they pulled each other into a passionate kiss.

Needless to say, they didn’t end up falling asleep until sunlight peaked through their window.

xXx

 

They got married on a Friday the next October. They had found an old barn-turned-reception hall not far from their place, and it was strung up with golden lights and white-clothed tables. It was simple and small. 

Obviously, Cas didn’t have all that many people to invite. He refused to even try and contact his family, but Dean took the gigantic risk of hunting down his brother Gabriel because he remembered that he and Castiel had been close. When Gabriel’s confirmed RSVP arrived in the mail, Cas had practically tackled Dean with happiness.

Gabriel’s date was a beautiful Indian woman named Kali, and the two of them got along with Dean’s family flawlessly. Gabriel was exuberant and friendly, always cracking jokes and making people laugh. Dean liked him instantly.

Mary cried with happiness practically the whole time. Dean was sure there wasn’t a moment she didn’t have a Kleenex balled up in her fist, and Asher was continuously supplying her with new ones. Dean’s wedding party was made up of Sam, Jo and Benny – with Sam being his best man, of course. Castiel’s was Gabriel, Charlie and Norah. Lola and Tanya were ring bearers.

They had practically given an open invitation to everyone at school, seeing as how their wedding had been the talk of Lawrence Private and they knew the kids would try and crash it anyways. Rufus and Bobby made the trip from Sioux Falls. 

Cas cried when Gabriel toasted them and promised Cas could count on having at least one brother in his life. Dean tried not to cry when Sam gave his best man’s speech, and utterly failed.

Dean had tried to push for a Zep song for their first dance, but Cas wouldn’t hear of it. Dean couldn’t complain, though, when they took the dance floor and “Flightless Bird, American Mouth” by Iron and Wine came on, because in that moment, it was perfect.

It had always seemed like people cried at weddings because it was the end of something – the end of an entire part of your life. But as Dean and Cas turned slowly on the dance floor, oblivious to absolutely everyone else, they weren’t thinking about the things that were over. They wouldn’t lament the loss of first kisses or first dates or just-met-you puppy love; they had no use for those things anymore, if they ever had.

There was too much to look forward to; too many exciting trials on their horizon. Maybe they would use the summers off to travel; maybe they would adopt. Maybe they’d expand on the cabin or get another dog – or maybe Dean would cave and let Cas get that rabbit he wanted.

There were so many _maybes,_ and Dean and Cas wanted to figure them all out. It was a good kind of scary, in a way that they weren’t really afraid. It just felt right. They were ready, now.

Their entire lives had been leading them to this: to each other.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AUGUST 17TH, 2015: 
> 
> Wow. Just wow. 
> 
> You guys, I have (practically) no words. 
> 
> I started this fic exactly one year ago, when I first moved to Vancouver. It was just a tiny but important work of passion that kept me grounded during a huge change in my life.
> 
> I cannot believe the fucking amazing comments and amount of kudos! This fic was an absolute labor of love, from start to finish, and you guys bring me to tears time and again because you do nothing but mirror that love back. I’m so, so happy that “Like Real People” has found such an astounding audience. It really, really means a lot to me. This year has held a lot of up and downs for me, and in all honesty, the stress of school and some personal things triggered a huge relapse in my own mental health. But I’ve read every single one of your comments, even if I can’t respond to them all, and they give me strength when I greatly need it. Thank you. 
> 
> I’m graduating from film school this week, and honestly, without Dean and Cas and the Destiel fandom, I don’t think I would have made it. 
> 
> But to switch tracks - now that school is done, I wanted to give you all a heads up that I plan on posting a few more fics this coming fall/winter. I have three in the works right now: 
> 
> \- A Band AU which takes place at a punk music festival  
> \- My take on a wolf-shifter AU in the Canadian Rockies   
> \- A canon-congruent fic that starts in Dean’s childhood and ends with Season 10 (this one will take fucking ages and will probably be over 200k words but I’m very excited about it ok)
> 
> I would love for you guys to join me on the journey of these fics as well :) 
> 
> Once again, thank you guys from the bottom of my useless shipper heart. You're all amazing.


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